Devotio Moderna
by Baroqy
Summary: Sheppard becomes the unwilling companion of a malfunctioning Ancient computer. McKay is targeted by a psychotic monk. It's all downhill from there.
1. Chapter 1

**Devotio Moderna**

_Notes_: I finished a rough draft of this story over Christmas. Titan5 read it and made vague threats. Something about nagging me until I posted… Anyway, sorry for the delay in posting anything but I have a bad habit of finishing stories and then I'm kind of over it and can't be bothered with the whole posting thing. Cue more subtle threats from Titan5. Heh, heh. This story is around thirteen chapters long, pretty much completed and that means you should have a new chapter every second or third day, regular as clockwork. Cross fingers.

_Summary_: When Sheppard and McKay wind up as guests of the local religious order, the last thing they expect is for the monks to be a bigger threat than the local war lord. Especially when Sheppard finds himself the unwilling companion of a malfunctioning Ancient computer.

**Chapter One**

John Sheppard liked to think that on most occasions he was prone to having a good idea in the middle of a crisis. Well, enough of a good idea to haul everyone's collective ass out of the fire.

This was not one of those occasions.

He and McKay had their backs – literally – up against a wall. Teyla and Ronon couldn't be contacted, having been split off in what Sheppard would later realize was a classic tactic to ensure that the local war lord could concentrate on his primary targets. Sheppard and McKay.

Damn it. He hated it when he got this popular.

"Right about now would be a really good time to have a fantastic idea about how we're going to escape."

That was McKay, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. McKay's sarcasm mode was clearly ramped up to its highest setting.

"I used to like it better when you stood in the background and looked frightened," he shot back.

"There's no 'back' to stand in. And I am frightened, I'm just too angry to show it."

"What, so now you're Rambo McKay?"

"Less with the witty comebacks, more with the killing of the bad guys."

Yeah. Uh huh. Like that was going to happen any time soon. They were surrounded by a dozen men and that made him and his P-90 look measly by comparison. Even the added bonus of Rodney's Glock wasn't going to counter those kind of odds. They could shoot, they'd take down a couple of the local henchmen and then they'd be dead themselves. Simple mathematics. When in doubt, err on the side of discretion.

The lead bad guy, one Altrius Dren, muscled his way past the ring of thugs pointing their primitive but highly effective wide bore rifles at Sheppard and McKay's chest. Rifles at close range were never good. They tended to leave nasty, gaping holes in their targets.

"So, Colonel Sheppard, you've led us on quite the merry chase," said Dren.

Sheppard tried not to roll his eyeballs at the opening line, but failed. "Yeah, well, we're pretty good at the whole running and fighting thing."

"Even your squat companion?"

McKay bristled. "Who're you calling squat? I am _not_ squat. I'm robust."

Sheppard thought it was would probably be a good idea if McKay stopped mimicking the tactical teams so much. He was getting less afraid of the bad guys and more inclined to go for the ever popular 'faced with imminent death' smart ass routine.

"Quit it, Rodney."

McKay promptly shut his mouth, hopefully long enough for Sheppard to try and talk his way out of this particularly inconvenient sequence of events.

"Now, Dren… Somehow we obviously offended you, and if we did, we're very sorry and we won't do it again. Right, McKay?"

"Sure. Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Not helping," said Sheppard and he shot McKay a look. McKay got the hint and once more lapsed into silence.

"Quite the contrary, Colonel. You didn't offend us. In fact, it's more that your skills interest us and we'd like to use those skills for our own cause."

"Which I'm sure is righteous and just," said Sheppard, completely failing to give into his own temptation to make with the one-liners.

Dren cocked an eyebrow, and smiled. Bemused by Sheppard's response in the way that all bad guys bent on planet wide domination tended to be bemused. Mainly because they thought they had the upper hand.

"Colonel, all causes are righteous and just. That's what makes them a cause."

"Okay. Let's say I agree with you. What now?"

"You put down your weapons, and we take you back to our compound and put you to work."

Had to admire a guy who was so straight forward and to the point. So, no choice really and he looked at Rodney, gave a small nod. Rodney sighed, took his finger off the trigger and changed his grip so that the Glock was now flat in his palm. On the of Dren's thugs grabbed it, and neatly tucked it into his belt for safekeeping. Sheppard vaguely wished the safety systems on the Glock were more shoddily designed. Nothing like an accidental shooting with a handgun at close range to really ruin a bad guy's day.

Sheppard reluctantly followed Rodney's lead and took his finger off the trigger, deliberately forgetting to palm the switch back to the safety setting and letting it fall from his hands. He then unclipped it from his vest before Dren attempted to cut it off with a knife.

Dren seemed inordinately pleased with himself. Entirely predictable. Pity the man had some firearms knowledge and made sure he didn't put his finger anywhere near the trigger. And once Dren had the firearms stowed safely away, he had them both searched for any additional weapons, which also removed the possibility of using Sheppard's knife for a quick get away. Finished with that exercise, Dren gestured that Sheppard and McKay should get themselves moving in the direction indicated. Away from the town and back towards Dren's fortified encampment.

Something that didn't bode well for either of them. Sheppard was under no illusions as to their eventual fate. He'd seen Dren in action. Dren was, at heart, a ruthless businessman pure and simple. He'd viewed Sheppard and McKay as a hostage opportunity, a chance to make a quick buck. Or in the case of Atlantis, obtain some more sophisticated weapons. But the inhabitants of Atlantis had learnt their lesson from the Genii and Elizabeth was never going to negotiate. Besides, Sheppard would never let her.

Dren was more than likely to kill them as soon as his demands weren't met and they no longer proved useful. Mind you, Sheppard suspected there were other reasons Dren was so damn interested. A few relics with Ancient technology were scattered around the town and they lit up like Christmas trees as soon as Sheppard and McKay walked past. On the plus side, the technology had been cannibalized for parts and trinkets and therefore didn't actually work beyond the panels lighting up. On the bad side, it did alert everyone within the vicinity that Sheppard and McKay weren't exactly standard issue humans.

Sheppard had learnt that sometimes it just didn't pay to have the Ancient gene. Not when people wanted to gain the upper hands on their enemies.

He put up his hands, and reluctantly started walking in the direction Dren was pointing. McKay followed him, doing an admirable job of continuing to maintain his silence.

It was at that point everything seemed to stop. Approaching Dren and his gang was a figure dressed like a monk. The brown robes reached the stranger's feet, a simple belt of rope was tied around his waist, his face obscured by a hood.

Dren saw the figure, scowled and directed his next threat towards the stranger. "This isn't any of your business, so I advise you to stay well clear."

This didn't stop the mystery monk, who continued to walk through the throng of bad guys, right up to Sheppard, McKay and Dren.

"I am claiming your hostages under the Treaty of Nicolaremis."

"You've got no right. And they're _mine_. I saw them first," said Dren. With an actual whine in his voice.

"The Treaty is quite specific about what we can and cannot claim. You should count yourself lucky. You know that we rarely invoke our rights under the Treaty and we've seen fit to ignore a large number of treaty violations." The robed figured seemed unfazed by the crowd gathered around them, even though he was unarmed.

Sheppard could see Dren actually starting to sag. The monk was welding a lot of power if the local big Kahuna was backing down without a fight. Dren gave Sheppard a small shove towards the man.

"Fine, he's yours. And the squat one. Tell the Benevolent Father that he would do well not to ask for this privilege again." Dren fairly spat out the words.

"I will tell him," replied the man evenly. "Whether he decides to take your advice is another matter."

The monk changed his attention to Sheppard and McKay. "You are to follow me. Stay close. You are under my protection but if you stray, Dren is within his rights to claim you and I will not be able to invoke the Treaty again."

"Hey, so uh, who are you anyway?" It was McKay, breaking his silence. Sheppard gave him another look but it seemed Rodney was past caring whether his chit chat got them into trouble or not.

"I am Brother Darius. I am a monk at the Abbey of the Seer."

"Oh. I take it that we're going to the Abbey?" Rodney seemed to have opted for asking obvious questions.

"Actually, we are there now. Dren's men had you backed against the East Wall. We're merely moving towards the Grand Entrance."

Darius continued to move at a reasonably quick pace and both Sheppard and McKay had to break into a half trot, just to keep up with him. Sheppard didn't know what to make of this sudden rescue. It seemed a little too good to be true and quite frankly, the SGA teams weren't exactly blessed when it came to good luck, or good timing. At this moment however, Darius was better than whatever Dren had planned, so he continued to follow. Besides, they didn't have weapons, and the planet wasn't exactly made up of a peace loving agrarian society. Instead it seemed to thrive on a ruthless form of capitalism run amok. They would literally sell their grandmothers if it stood to make them any money. War lords controlled the sale of luxury goods, the average peasant tried their best to eek out an existence as tenant farmers. Discovering that this ruthless society had its own religious order didn't surprise Sheppard. Medieval England and most of Europe had seen centuries of violent clashes between the various Popes and rulers of countries and most of the wealth had been controlled by the Church. Military school had taught him one thing while examining the history of the great clashes of the ages. Where piety and money were involved, piety lost.

Darius gestured towards a large, wooden gate with spikes on top and two guards manning what appeared to be the early version of the Gatling gun at the front of the entrance.

"Once we are through those gates you shall be safe from Dren."

Sheppard decided enough was enough, and put his hand on Darius' shoulder to slow him down. Darius stopped, turned to face Sheppard.

"Brother Darius, I don't want to appear ungrateful, but-"

"-How do you know that you can trust me?"

Sheppard nodded. Clearly Darius had been anticipating the question.

"You do not. But I can assure you that once inside the Abbey you will be treated as one of the monks, equally, while you await the arrival of your own people."

"Right, and we can't just go back to the stargate because…?"

"Because Dren's men control access to the Ring of Transport and the Treaty of Nicolaremis does not include travel to the gate. Only sanctuary inside the Abbey grounds. He would be within his right to kill you as soon as he saw you."

"Great," muttered McKay. "We're not going to be overdue for another twelve-hours."

"Can we contact our people from inside the Abbey?" Sheppard asked, not really holding a lot of hope, but he wanted to delay going inside as long as possible. He was beginning to get a really bad feeling about going into the Abbey.

Darius was no slouch on picking up on Sheppard's reluctance. "My friend, you have very little choice. There are three competing war lords in this area alone. There are gangs of mercenaries. There are scavengers who would have no compunction about bashing out your brains and taking whatever you have to sell at a profit. In some cases that would even extend to selling off your corpse. I can't stop you if you decide to run off at this point, but I'd wager you won't make it out of town alive, let alone all the way to the Ring of Transport."

"I like my brains. They're my best feature," said a worried McKay.

"Okay, okay. We'll go with you," replied Sheppard. Even if he didn't like the idea, even if he thought they were just going to land in more trouble because, God forbid, that's how their lives worked. Besides, what kind of Abbey needed guards at the door and a huge gate with spikes on the top?

Darius waited until they were walking towards the Abbey and then fell in behind them. The guards made no moves towards them, except to nod their heads briefly in Darius' direction. One of them reached across to the door, sounded a large bell. There was a brief pause before there were the sounds of chains clanking against wood and the doors began to be winched open.

Sheppard was never going to be comfortable with big doors that needed a winch system to open them. That just translated into a set of doors that needed C4 to get through.

"Damn it," he muttered to himself.

"What's wrong?" It was McKay again. Back to looking frightened and doing his best to dawdle through the entrance.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"I hate it when you say that. It means I should worry."

"Well, don't. Not yet anyway. I'll tell you when you should worry."

"Promise?" McKay's sarcasm was back.

"Yes," said Sheppard.

"Or I could just look for the usual signs of running away and yelling."

"That would work too."

They passed through the entrance, Sheppard reflexively looking upwards at the arch of the gate, high over their heads, before settling back to take in their immediate surroundings. They were in a very small courtyard, barely enough for six or more people, facing towards another set of large doors. Clearly a defensive strategy to ensure a bottle neck if anyone tried to force their way into the Abbey.

Darius pushed on the doors with a considerable amount of force, and they eventually swung open. They then found themselves walking down a long corridor that twisted and turned in a disorienting pattern. The corridor consisted of dark wooden paneling, a few windows here and there, a flagstone floor, and some candles illuminating the way. As far as Sheppard was concerned, the corridor was yet another subtle deterrent. The monks had designed the corridor to disorient any attackers. Anyone charging into the corridor would be caught off guard as their eyes tried to adjust to the sudden change in lighting and the crazy right angles.

It was impressively sophisticated.

They arrived at yet another set of doors. McKay was beginning to look unnerved by all the door opening and corridor walking and Sheppard didn't blame him. Darius didn't bother to stop but kept walking, expecting his guests to follow him.

They entered, and found the lighting even dimmer and that they'd arrived in an antechamber. Presumably designed to inspire equal measures of awe and fear into whoever was forced to wait here.

As his eyes adjusted, Sheppard could make out the various friezes on the walls. Mostly scenes of hell and damnation, featuring a creature with eyes made of burning coal and an abnormally large mouth, full of teeth and a tongue that seemed design for reaching into people's chests and pulling out their souls. In amongst it all, various images of brave monks defeating the creature also featured. The monks looked like they were about to face death and had on their face a wistfully resigned expression as they stared upward, towards the sky, and presumably, God. Hovering in the background, behind the monk, appeared to be a giant sponge, which was kind of odd considering the religious imagery.

"Nice art," said Sheppard for something to say.

"Yes, it shows the martyrs and their fight against the beast to rescue the people." Darius did not move, and seemed to be waiting patiently for whatever was going to happen next.

McKay shifted his weight to his right leg, regarded the various friezes with an expression of disdain and suspicion. McKay had never exactly been the spiritual type, even when he was faced with trying to ascend or die after his run in with the Ancient equipment in Atlantis.

There didn't seem to be a lot of point in talking, so Sheppard kept quiet, and McKay tried following his example but failed within thirty seconds.

"So, these martyrs… Where exactly, do they think they end up once they die?" McKay stabbed a finger in the direction of a frieze of a particularly pious monk – the monk's face turned upwards in an expression of relief as he was disemboweled by a creature that appeared to be a cross between a vulture and a crocodile with an attitude.

"Oh, to the Great City of course. It flies throughout the heavens, and each monk who passes the test and saves souls, goes to the Great City to live with the wise Old Ones."

Wouldn't be the first time tales of the Ancients had become used in local mythology. And it presented a possible opening.

"Sounds a lot like the place where we come from," said Sheppard. He kept his statement neutral, and friendly. He'd been in enough war zones to know that religion was a quirky cultural bed fellow. It was tricky to tell what would cause offense and what would not. The real trick was convincing the person taking offense that the statement had been made in innocence.

It was at that point that Darius finally pulled back his hood to reveal his face. He was young, probably about Ford's age, his brunette hair shaved down to mere stubble. His eyes were blue, the face weathered in a way that showed he'd worked outdoors, long and hard.

"Do you hope that the place where you come from is like the Great City or are you comparing it to the Great City?"

Sheppard knew when he needed to choose his next words with care.

"Based on what you say, the Great City is … well, great. And our city is good too. So I imagine if we were going to aspire to anything it would be to… be like the Great City."

Darius narrowed his eyes at the reply. "Then that is a very correct desire. Of course, nothing can be exactly like the Great City. There is only one. To claim to be as good and as pure, is sacrilegious."

"Right," said Sheppard, not wanting to push it any further.

"What's the punishment for being sacrilegious?" McKay apparently had no such qualms.

"They are numerous and depend on the severity of the deed. Usually it is a penance of some sort."

"McKay, let's not get the nice man all riled up by having him explain penances." Which was a big hint to McKay to try not to upset Darius any further.

"I was just asking out of interest," replied McKay.

Sheppard was about to say something else when another set of doors opened. His eyes once more had to adjust to a change in lighting, this time by squinting. The room was ablaze with sunlight, all being cleverly reflected by an arrangement of polished metals hanging from the ceilings and walls.

An elderly monk, bent over with a permanent stoop, beckoned them inside. "The Benevolent Father will see you now."

Sheppard always got suspicious when he heard titles that featured superlatives. Like Good, and Wise and Grand and Benevolent. Usually because it meant that the person attached to the superlative was just the opposite.

He walked in as casually as he could, back straight, taking in his surroundings but also keeping an eye open for any unusual behavior from Darius. Luckily this didn't seem to involve any more bowing or scraping. McKay also walked in with his head held high. Or at least, he was doing his best to still put on his Rambo McKay act.

The Benevolent Father was sitting in a wooden chair that looked remarkably like a throne. Sheppard guessed that the guy was in his mid-fifties; his face weather lined and beat up from years of hard work. He wore an eye patch, and the one good eye he had, seemed to be in a permanent squint. He wore a far more stylish version of the monk's robes. His robes were white, embroidered with what looked like gold thread. He didn't seem, upon first impression, to be a man who would give anyone an inch, let alone a mile. But then he caught sight of them and brightened considerably at their entrance. The Benevolent Father smiled, stood up stiffly from his seat and shuffled down to greet his guests.

"Come in, come in! My goodness Darius, well done on the rescue."

Darius seemed embarrassed and ducked his head. "I made a promise Benevolent Father. I always like to keep my promises."

"So you do my boy, so you do."

Benevolent Father shuffled his way over to Sheppard and McKay, still smiling. Sheppard, ever suspicious, thought the smile was more like a predatory gleam.

"I'm so glad Darius could get you out of Dren's clutches," continued Benevolent Father. "The man is a pig. Takes everything and gives nothing back to the people. At least Syrus likes to feed the people he enslaves."

Sheppard realized he had no idea what to do with his hands when he didn't have a P-90 to rest them on or a Glock in the holster. He had to opt for letting them hang loosely at his sides, which was the best he could do about sending out a non confrontational body signal. McKay on the other hand had opted for crossing his arms across his chest.

Sheppard figured he would have to be the first one to broach the delicate subject of their repatriation back to Atlantis. "Darius here tells me that we should be able to contact our people."

The Benevolent Father waved a hand in a gesture that said Sheppard should stop talking and also that the words he was about to say were a complete lie. "Yes, yes, you can contact your people but first, I just wanted to confirm if all the rumors I've been hearing are true."

Sheppard didn't like where the conversation was heading and it had only really just begun.

"Rumors?"

"Yes. I hear several of the Old One devices came alive in your presence."

Okay, lie or tell the truth. Either way they were probably in trouble. "They activated, if that's what you mean."

He heard McKay inhale sharply, because McKay had probably figured out the same thing he had. Interest in what the A.T.A gene could do was never a good sign.

The Benevolent Father's smile got bigger. He shuffled over to a cabinet, took out a flat panel, the size of his palm and shuffled back to them.

"We are always on the lookout for those that bear the mark of the Old Ones. They are rare on our planet and we have not seen a new one in nearly thirty years." He held out his palm, the device flush against it. "If you would do me the honor of shaking my hand, we will see if you truly are descendants of the Old Ones."

Both McKay and Sheppard hesitated. Darius seemed surprised as their hesitation. "The Benevolent Father wouldn't hurt you. He's just curious."

"Then he wouldn't be offended if we chose not to shake his hand," replied Sheppard.

"Uh, what he said," echoed McKay.

The Benevolent Father didn't stop smiling. "You know Colonel Sheppard, I've dealt with more stubborn men than you."

"You know my name."

"Of course I do. And your friend is Dr. Rodney McKay. At the Abbey, we pay close attention to all of the intelligence we gather from the country. My spies know exactly what's going on at any given moment."

"Then why do we have to touch the device? You already know the answer," replied Sheppard.

"Yes, I know the answer but not the true extent of your abilities." He thrust his hand out again. "And really, we both know that I don't need your hand to be attached to your body for this device to work."

Okay, so that was a pretty persuasive argument. McKay seemed to be galvanized into action by the statement. "Fine, okay, I'll volunteer if it will get this over and done with. See, I'm shaking your hand..."

McKay grabbed the hand holding the device, shook it firmly, and then released his grip. The Benevolent Father stared at the device. A series of indicators proceeded to light up, indicating how strongly the gene was expressing itself in McKay's physiology.

The Benevolent Father appeared disappointed with the results. "Hmmm… The device says you are not a natural user."

"What's that supposed to mean?" McKay was insulted, even if it could save his neck.

"It means that the expression of the gene is not strong in you, and you also do not have a strong mental component. Not enough to guide the more sophisticated machines left to us by the Old Ones."

"Oh, " said McKay.

"You next," said the Benevolent Father. He held out his hand, Sheppard realized he didn't have much choice. The manly, soldierly thing to do was to grab the guy, maybe punch him and use him as a hostage, but he could see the elderly monk out of the corner of his eye had somehow acquired a very sharp sword and Darius was also gripping something secreted up the sleeves of his robe. It didn't take a genius to realize Darius was holding another weapon. Clearly these guys were used to fighting their way out of tough situations.

Sighing, he reached out, shook the Benevolent Father's hand and by default, the device. He tried to release it as quickly as possible, vaguely hoping that it didn't get enough time to do whatever it did.

No such luck. The indicator practically went through the roof. He half expected it to let out a ping. The Benevolent Father's one good eye opened wide.

"By the Great City. A Seer! I thought it would be too much to hope for but… " The man seemed overcome and it took him a moment to start speaking again. "John Sheppard, we have been waiting for as man such as yourself for a long time. When I heard you could activate the Old One devices I didn't dare hope but it seems the Old Ones have seen fit to give us a sign and send you to us."

Very bad words to hear when dealing with people from other planets: the words 'seer', 'sent' and 'waiting a long time' used in the same demented speech. Oh crap, he was in so much trouble. He wondered, not for the first time, whether Carson could actually come up with a gene therapy that removed the A.T.A gene. Because right about now, it would be incredibly convenient to just be boringly average on the genetic front.

"I'm sure this Seer is very important to you, but I'm also pretty sure you have the wrong guy. Right, Rodney?"

"Oh, yes. Totally. Colonel Sheppard has been mistaken for a lot of things when we visit planets. I can tell you that in most cases, they've had it completely wrong. We even visited one planet where he was proclaimed the Oracle. Bit of a disaster, let me tell you. Oracle? Couldn't even figure out what he'd just had for breakfast."

Sheppard interrupted as McKay warmed to his task. "I think he gets the idea. Seriously. You can be quiet now."

Of course, as was the way with all strange people dressed in robes, and ideas that were set in stone, Rodney's plea for Sheppard's complete ineptitude at being the local savior fell upon deaf ears. The Benevolent Father was too busy being overjoyed.

The robed figure crossed to a set of wall hangings and with the help of the older man, pulled them back to reveal an Ancient control panel and behind that, even more wall hangings and a big set of curtains. Definitely Ancient, since it featured that church organ look the Ancients seemed so keen on. The panel looked dead. That probably meant it needed to be keyed by an A.T.A gene carrier and then anyone could use it.

The Benevolent Father beckoned at him. "Now, Colonel, if you could just step forward and touch the device, and say 'hello' to Machine."

He didn't like the sounds of that either. "I'd really like to say 'no thanks' at this point in time, if that's okay with you. Maybe later. Or tomorrow. Tomorrow is always good."

Benevolent Father narrowed his one good eye, let out an annoyed sigh, as if he was dealing with a monk who hadn't been saying his prayers properly.

"I can see the Beast has warped your heart and mind. Otherwise you'd realize that it is not up to you to refuse your position. Only Machine can do that."

Okay, he didn't like the fact that they had given the control panel a name, and the name was so damn unimaginative. He stood his ground.

"Um, Colonel..." It was McKay. Who had turned around to look behind them. The door was opening and more monks were entering. Big guys. With what looked like a lot of muscle. Presumably the goon squad of the monks. The thought of monks having a fighting squad was making the entire situation even more surreal than it already was.

The lead bad guy rolled up his robe sleeves in a meaningful way and Sheppard got a good look at a bicep that was twice as thick as his own arm. Even Ronon would wind up having a tough time fighting that much muscle mass.

Funny thing was, though – he really hated being forced into anything. Even if it meant he was going to get beat up for it. Call it a quirk of his adolescence. He never did get over the whole disdain for authority thing. Not a great idiosyncrasy for someone in the military, but he'd never seen the point of carrying out actions that made no sense or resulted in someone's unnecessary death.

The Big Guy came forward, along with a couple of his friends. McKay stepped forward to stand between them. That was Rodney. Impossibly brave at all the wrong times. And yes, he did count Rodney as brave, because as Sheppard had told Elizabeth, "Fighting scary monsters is what I do." It was natural for Sheppard to fight and hold out. It wasn't at all natural for Rodney. For that simple reason, McKay getting between him and a guy who could snap him in two was the biggest act of courage Sheppard thought he'd seen in quite some time.

"Hey, McKay. It's no use both of us getting hurt," said Sheppard.

Rodney nodded once, stepped back, clearly simultaneously relieved and guilty at his capitulation. But at least McKay was safe. Sheppard put up his hands in a gesture of peace.

"Okay, okay. I'm going. Let's get this over with."

He turned on his heel, strode back towards the panel. Hesitated. He didn't like Ancient technology. It had a tendency to blow up, or have some weird purpose that made him think that Mary Shelly was channeling a genetic memory about the Ancients when she cooked up Frankenstein's monster.

He tried to ignore the Benevolent Father's grin of anticipation and braced himself to get hurt in some way. Slowly, he laid his hands on the controls, surprised and relieved when there was no reaction.

"Thank God," he muttered to himself. He was about to remove his hands when the Benevolent Father interrupted him.

"Stay where you are. Machine sometimes takes a while to warm to people."

Of course. He was never going to get off that easy. Apparently this device had a delay attached to it. The panel hesitated, spluttered into life, a display above the panel burst into life. Colors swirled on it with no discernable pattern. Worse, there seemed to be something moving behind the curtains.

A voice, old, female, seemingly verging on death rasped into life.

"Welcome, Seer. I have been waiting for you."

"Crap," he said. Again to himself. He jerked his hands back, vaguely hoping that breaking contact would shut the whole crazy ride down, but no such luck. He jumped off the platform as it began to draw back towards the curtains, the curtains swinging up into the roof and the thing that stood behind the curtain was revealed…

Machine.

Sheppard would have backed all the way out of the room if he had a chance, but he merely backed up into two of the monks. Who got a firm grip on each of his arms and started hauling him towards – well, God knows what it was.

Machine was an enormous quivering mass. A pulsating, sloshing sac of white skin like material. He didn't understand why they called it Machine since this machine was obviously completely organic.

The two monks began dragging him towards it. He dug his heels in as best he could.

"Machine welcomes you, Seer. Join me."

The voice wasn't that welcoming and he didn't like the use of the word 'join'. He also didn't like the way the two monks were dragging him towards the pulsating whatever-it-was lolling around on some sort of specially made support system.

"Thanks. I think I might turn down that offer. Not offense." Then he decided that getting beaten up was going to be infinitely better than going anywhere near something that resembled a massively infected boil.

He managed to jerk one arm free, managed to punch one of the big monks. Not that it made any difference. The guy didn't even blink. He tried for a few leg sweeps, another couple of punches, and hit a nose with his elbow, but they seemed to be oblivious to pain and made of thick skulls.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a panicked McKay rushing over to help. Not that it made any difference. McKay might as well have been a five-year-old kicking someone's knee. Distracted by McKay's presence, he felt a fist connect with his cheek. Yeah, that was going to bruise.

The Benevolent Father watched for a few minutes, then tired of it all.

"Enough! Sheppard, you will join Machine or I'll have your friend executed and his head put on a spike."

Well, it was the kind of threat that was always going to get his attention. He stopped fighting. Ran a tongue across his upper lip, which was now split and bleeding.

"Okay, fine. I'll do it. As long as you guarantee McKay's safety."

Benevolent Father was smiling again. "It does not make any difference whether we guarantee it or not, but since you insist – I guess it would make you more cooperative."

"That's your word?"

"As good as we make it here."

Sheppard felt his shoulders sag, resigned to his fate. McKay moved closer, anxiety and worry etched all over his face.

"I'm going to figure a way out of this," said McKay and he meant it.

"That's what I'm counting on," replied Sheppard. He tried to give McKay a reassuring grin, but failed.

"Machine is waiting," said the voice again. The one that now sounded a little younger and more eager every time it spoke.

So, here he was surrounded, and without a lot of choice. McKay tried to look positive and Sheppard shrugged off the guards, walked towards the outer skin of Machine.

"Step through, it won't hurt," said Benevolent Father.

Not much anyway, thought Sheppard, having been lied to about whether or not something would hurt far too many times to count.

He took a deep breath, put out a hand onto the sac, felt it pulsate under his hand and then it seemed to open, his hand and arm falling into the interior. Taking another step, he found himself half sucked, half pushed through until he was inside, liquid rushing past his feet and out onto the floor.

The inside of Machine was even less pleasant. Goo, thick and slimy, came up to his knees. It was a sickening yellow color. Bolts of light, looking like electrical discharges, flitted around the place. There was the faint smell that spoke of decaying flesh.

The tear in the sac closed instantly. He turned, and tried to push his way back out but the membrane refused to give.

"You are mine now, Seer. I am so pleased. You will help me solve the problem."

"Uh huh. Good. Um, what problem would that be?"

"The problem that has vexed the Benevolent Fathers since the Abbey was built. It will take some time. Lie down, Seer. Let us begin."

Sheppard looked down at the viscous liquid and thought the last thing he wanted to do was lie down in it. Instead he made another attempt at escape by pounding harder on the sac's surface.

"You are frightened, Seer. I understand. There is no need to fear Machine. Machine cares for you."

There wasn't a lot he could say to that statement. He was now totally desperate to be free of this completely psycho piece of Ancient technology.

"Look, just let me the fuck out of here and no one will get hurt."

"You can't hurt Machine. Machine cannot be harmed. The Creators made it so."

Sheppard gave the sac a good couple of kicks with his left leg. To no avail. Nothing like a little panic to get the adrenaline flowing.

"Enough of this, Seer. We should join now."

"No. No, joining. Joining without protection would be bad. Let me out and I'll go and find some condoms."

The Machine stopped speaking for a few moments, seemingly analyzing what he was saying. "The Seer makes a joke?"

"Just a teeny one. To ease the tension." He was trying to make jokes to keep himself from giving into the fear that was creeping its way up his spine and trying to make his stomach go into spasm.

"You amuse me. This bodes well for our time together."

It was right about then that Sheppard noticed his feet were sliding through the liquid without moving themselves. He was being pulled towards the center, and as he tried to resist, he realized he wasn't getting any traction on the 'floor' of Machine. It was hopelessly slippery and in his attempt to turn around, he lost his footing, slipped backwards and went down into the muck butt first anyway.

Only to find himself promptly pushed onto his back and skidding towards a ball of energy hovering in the centre.

"You know, I really don't like to kiss and join on the first date," he said, trying very hard to keep his mind off the alarming sound of crackling that could be heard as bolts of lightening discharged from the energy ball.

"Do not worry. I will not let you come to harm. You are the Seer and I am Machine."

As if that explained it all. He was about to say something else when he found himself in the center. The swirling mass of energy descended, arced around him, gripped him like a hand, pushed him down, sinking him into the liquid until he could feel it leaking into his ears, wetting the back of his hair. The energy churned over him and around him, concentrated on his head, his eyes, his nose, his mouth. And of course, she'd lied. It hurt. It hurt like he was being electrocuted. The energy was everywhere. Over him, inside him.

Machine was inside him.

"Machine loves you."

He started screaming.

**End of Chapter One**.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Ronon was annoyed in a way that only Satedans could be annoyed. He was hunkered down beside Teyla, sitting on the grass, within spitting distance of the dialing podium. They'd been made to wait there by the guards at the 'gate. Guards who delighted in controlling the precise time as to when Ronon and Teyla could dial up the Atlantis address and make their escape. Teyla had been waiting patiently. Ronon had not. Every so often an entirely innocent insect was crushed under Ronon's boot, or thumb.

"Ronon, those insects have done nothing to you," said Teyla. Her people had strong belief in letting all living creatures go about business if they did no harm. Squashing bugs just because they happened to be in the way was not part of her belief system.

The Satedan tried to look contrite and stopped himself from ending the life of a brightly colored beetle.

"Sorry," said Ronon.

It wasn't hard for Teyla to guess the reason for Ronon's mood. She knew exactly what he was thinking. They'd allowed themselves to fall of the most obvious trick in the book and now they were separated from Sheppard and McKay. A team of four might have stood a chance against Dren and his henchmen, but for two people, the odds were significantly reduced.

Even more insultingly, after Ronon and Teyla had been captured and disarmed, Dren's second in command had given them a piece of paper with a list of demands, told them that their leader had better meet the demands or Dren would be sending pieces of Sheppard and McKay back through the 'gate until they got what they wanted. Then Ronon and Teyla had been herded out of town.

"When we come back here with a jumper and a team of marines, I am going to find Dren and personally string him up by his toes."

"I think we should worry about getting back to Atlantis first," said Teyla with a hint of amusement in her voice.

"I'm just saying."

"It's an admirable plan but the plan should also include finding Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay."

"It does. I string Dren up; he tells us where Sheppard and McKay are."

"Ronon, did anyone tell you that you are an uncomplicated man?"

"All the time."

One of the guards gave them an annoyed look. "Shut up. You go through when we feel like letting you through."

Teyla shifted her focus to the guard and tried for a different tack. "Dren will not be happy to know that you have delayed our passage."

"Dren isn't here now, is he?"

The man smiled at her, a mouthful of broken and brown teeth, with a suggestive smirk she'd seen too many times to count. Ronon instantly reacted, his body tensing, ready to fight.

Teyla regarded the man with composure. She'd learnt that such men took great pleasure in the fear of others and she'd swore long ago to never give them the satisfaction.

"You do not want to do this. Dren has given us his orders. We are to go back to Atlantis."

The man stepped forward, leaned over towards her. The smile did not leave his face.

"He didn't say _when_ you had to go back."

"Tobar Reece. Slow as usual I see. If you hadn't been delaying your guests' departure, you'd still be alive."

Teyla turned her head at the new voice. Six more men. Dressed the same as the others, but clearly not from the same camp.

The lead guy – a burly man with a crossbow - strode towards the man that had been menacing her and shot him through the chest without hesitation. The other four men that had been guarding the 'gate instantly dropped their weapons and held up their hands.

The leader of the band of six pointed his crossbow at the ground. "Tell Dren that I - Syrus - claim the Ring of Transport for himself!"

They didn't need any further encouragement and promptly ran for their lives. Syrus turned his attentions to Ronon and Teyla.

"Presumably we're in trouble," said Ronon. Straight faced.

"I beg to differ friend. Unlike Dren, I treat my hostages with kindness. So… What exactly was he going to trade you for?"

((--))

McKay didn't like it when people screamed. Liked it even less when the people doing the screaming were his friends.

Sheppard had screamed non-stop for thirty minutes. He knew because he'd been timing it on his watch. The cool one they gave him when he left on the expedition to Atlantis. Big face, waterproof, digital read out, battery life of about a billion years.

The screams had died off around the forty minute mark and he wasn't sure whether it was because there was no more reason to scream, or if Sheppard had run out of the energy or vocal power to keep going.

He didn't like this, didn't like having to hang around and not being able to do a thing about it. Mind you, on the positive side, Brother Darius had seemed as perturbed as McKay. The only calm one in the room had been the Benevolent Father, who was fussing around the control panel. The screen on the panel kept displaying strange colors, and bursts of white, and then vague images, like a photo half way through the development process.

Benevolent Father finally decided to speak after another five minutes, shifting his attention briefly away from the fuzzy picture on the screen.

"You should not concern yourself. Sometimes the joining between Machine and Seer can be difficult. The worst of it is over and she has been able to successfully bond with him."

McKay crossed his arms, thought he should say something amazingly brave and sanguine but could only manage, "Yeah, like I believe you."

The Benevolent Father gestured at the screen. "I can understand that you are upset but your friend is one of the chosen few. You should be happy for him. Machine begins the process with him. Together they will create a solution."

McKay wondered what had happened to the threatening language. "Of course I'm upset! You forced him to go in there. You told him you would kill me."

The Benevolent Father once more looked as if he was having to explain himself to a rather slow monk. "You should put your mind at ease. We would never harm you in a way that would permanently maim you or cause your death. Years of experience have taught us that when we wish someone to cooperate, most people fear giving up their own lives, or the lives of their loved ones or friends."

"Charming. I bet you guys are really popular."

"We are not here for popularity. We are here to fight the Beast and help the people of this country."

"Well, it's admirable that you're aiming big with your goals but if you did have a way for me to contact our home, it would be very much appreciated," said Rodney. That was about as polite as he could get. Of course, he knew before he asked that he didn't stand a chance of contacting Atlantis or anyone else for that matter.

The Benevolent Father shook his head, smiled at McKay in fake sympathy. "We had to do what was necessary. To quote Abbot Sheleel: _Sometimes the Beast of Lies must be defeated by his own hand_."

Rodney was about to say something fantastically witty about how it was strange that everyone's God always thought lying and threatening other people was perfectly okay as long as it didn't mess with the chosen few, when the Benevolent Father's attention was drawn back to the screen.

The image was stronger now. A house. The garishness of both the wallpaper and the carpet pointing to a time in the seventies. A woman, her face alarmingly out of focus, seemed to stride towards the screen and then turn away. The view was low, as if a camera was mounted down at knee level and was pointing upwards.

Another quick flash and a strange view of a pair of legs, clad in dark blue trousers, seams creased to a sharp edge. The view shifted down to the shoes. Black. Polished to a blinding shine.

"Johnny, what's wrong?"

((--))

Military training was big on teaching people to keep going through pain and fear. Fear would paralyze you, stop you in your tracks and in a war, and the act of not moving could get you killed. Pain did a similar thing. So the Army, the Marines, the Navy, and the Air Force taught their recruits the same lesson.

You don't stop until you're dead.

If you were injured, the injury could be fixed eventually. If you were so scared you were throwing up, or you wanted to run for your life, you ignored the sensation and did what you had to do anyway.

Then again, the very real threat of a court martial or getting shot did tend to focus a soldier's resolve.

Right about now Lt. Colonel John Sheppard was certain that he was scared enough to throw up, that he wanted to run away and that he was potentially injured but unfortunately he was also floating around on his back in alien gunk, surges of power apparently drilling little holes in his head and he was unable to move.

Life, it seemed, sometimes sucked to the _nth_ degree.

"Aw, crap," he said. To himself. But of course, Machine was eavesdropping. In their short time together, as he was forced into bonding with her in a way he didn't quite understand, Sheppard had discovered that Machine liked to learn all about her new buddies. She'd burrowed right into his skull and now she was parked there, yanking memories out of his brain left, right and center. Currently she was a point of light up on the ceiling of his bedroom. She was looking down at his mother from a time when his mother was young and pretty and he'd barely came up to her knee.

"Seriously, you need to get out of my head," he gasped out. Neither his mother nor Machine took any notice.

"John sweetie, what's wrong?"

Another figure entered, the figure wore blue trousers and shoes that were always shined to perfection. After all, the man had standards to set.

A hand went out to his forehead.

"Hey, little soldier; Mommy says you're not feeling well."

He would have replied but he felt like he was swimming through concrete, and he could barely breathe. Instead he lay in his bed, the blankets over him, watching a mobile swing from the ceiling. It was one that his mother had bought for his birthday. It featured birds. He liked it.

"I'm going to call the base doctor."

There was a rustle of a dress, his bed sunk slight as his mother sat down beside him. She took his hand.

"It's okay sweetie. You'll be okay."

((--))

Ronon Dex didn't like it when people used their power to bully. The Wraith, the Genii, and all those other races were so convinced of their superiority, that the end somehow justified the means. He'd been a solider but he'd had a different understanding of what it meant to be powerful.

An army's role was to protect its populace. It was there to beat back the enemy, protect families and then its role was to help rebuild. You didn't destroy a city and expect the populace to thank-you, no matter what the intentions. People didn't care about right and wrong when their families were dying of starvation or being blown to smithereens.

Running from the Wraith had hardened him, made him a loner and it was hard to trust people again.

But he still knew what was right, what was wrong and he knew that Dren and Syrus and all the other competing war lords on this crappy planet didn't care one iota for their own people. They were bullies, plain and simple.

To Ronon's way of thinking, they deserved what all bullies deserved. A good beating. He also wished that they would somehow wind up as Wraith bait but unfortunately if the Wraith arrived, and then the rest of the populace would suffer too. So it was going to have to be a beating. One that he was going to deliver personally.

Syrus was as bad as Dren. He may have been more polite, but as yet, he hadn't let them through the 'gate and Ronon was thoroughly and completely pissed off.

"You would think Dren could have come up with something more original than this," said Syrus, reading the hostage note. "Merely requesting some weapons, some explosives… I didn't realize Dren was thinking so small these days."

Ronon could tell that Teyla was running out of patience as well. She sighed, explained again.

"I told you before, we need to go back through the stargate. Our people will be expecting us."

Syrus just shook his head, looked at the list from Dren again. "If your people are really that valuable, then it makes sense to get as much as we can. Now, I could keep you two as hostages and hope that I can get a good price for you, but it sounds like Sheppard and McKay are worth a lot more. So with all four of you, well, I expect to make a small fortune."

Ronon decided that Syrus was an overly optimistic fool. Then again, you didn't get far in the war lord business without being hopelessly over confident about your own abilities.

"You expect us to believe you're going to kidnap McKay and Sheppard from Dren, hold all four of us hostage and then Atlantis is going to give in and send a huge weapons cache just to get us back?"

Syrus regarded Ronon with a genuine smile that said he was incredibly proud of his idea. "Of course. You're off-worlders. You obviously come from a place that's technologically more advanced, otherwise Dren wouldn't have bothered. It's not unreasonable to expect that we can trade for you."

Ronon raised an eyebrow, regarded Syrus with a look of pity. "Did it ever occur to you that if we come from a technologically superior civilization that we could just as easily destroy you?"

Syrus found Ronon's statement amusing. "Of course I considered it. We're not stupid. That's why you got through the 'gate in the first place. We always let visitors come through. Then we assess them and determine whether it's worth making our move or not. When people get back to the 'gate, we usually charge them a little fee and everyone goes on their merry way." Syrus rested his hand lightly on the trigger of his crossbow. "So, your people come through, we check them out, decide whether it's worth pursuing or not. From a safe vantage point of course. If it really does look like they can defeat us, then they'll never see us. When they leave, you two pay us a little toll for using the 'gate and everyone's happy."

Teyla, of course, was the first one to wake up to Syrus and Dren's game. "This isn't the first time you've controlled access to the stargate, is it?"

"Of course not. Sometimes Dren takes over, sometimes I do. Depends on the number of men we have at any one time as to who manages to take control. Charging exit tolls is a good way to make money."

There wasn't much Ronon could say to that. Except that at least on the positive side, if Syrus was dumb enough to go and grab Sheppard and McKay back from Dren, the team would be reunited. And the four of them back together meant only one thing.

Syrus' days as at war lord were numbered.

((--))

McKay wasn't entirely sure what was going on but whatever the screen was showing, it appeared to be snippets from John Sheppard's life.

Only not so much life. More like near brushes with death. Or in the case of Machine, actual brushes with death.

The first time he'd seen the scene played out, he'd lost it. It had taken him a while to wake up to the fact that the two-year old in the base hospital, struggling to breathe through a bout of bacterial pneumonia was Sheppard. The images were indistinct at times, didn't make sense, but then again, from the point of view of a two-year old, a hospital was nothing but a scary encounter with an incomprehensible adult world.

He heard a voice off to one side as the image remained focused on a far wall.

"He's very ill. We've given him antibiotics but his oxygen saturation levels are extremely low. We don't even dare move him for an x-ray. We've got a mobile unit coming to his bed."

There was the sound of muted crying from Sheppard's mother. The male voice continued. McKay figured out that the voice he was hearing was probably that of a doctor.

"Didn't he show any signs at all?"

The next voice McKay heard was that of Sheppard's father.

"No. He was just quiet for a couple of days. He's a tough little kid."

"It's not unusual. Very young children don't have the vocabulary to really tell us what's wrong. A lot of times the parents don't know until they're running a fever."

"He's going to be okay, isn't he?" A woman's voice. Sheppard's mother.

"I won't lie to you. It could go either way."

That was the thing. It didn't go the way that McKay had expected. The two-year old John Sheppard died the next day. He didn't quite understand it to begin with. The screen flashed white as soon as the death was pronounced. A sobbing mother and a stoic father at the child's bedside were the last images he saw.

He turned to Darius. "What's going on?"

"As far as I know, Machine needs to calculate all the different paths that the Seer could have taken. The one's that should have been his death."

"You're kidding…" McKay paused a minute, his brain conjuring up a possibility that was possibly too insane to really be regarded as a legitimate theory. But from what he'd just seen, and from what Darius had told him, it was the only thing that made any sense.

"Holy crap. She's calculating multiverses."

"Multi… What is a multiverse?" Darius looked at him, clearly confused by this new term.

"Look, you're probably not going to understand this but every time we make a decision or take some action, we create a number of universes that contain the other decisions and actions we didn't make. For example, in another universe, I'm popular and cool. And I go by the name of Rod."

Actually, Darius did seem to understand it and in fact picked up the concept quickly. "If I left the room now, there's another universe where I decided to stay?"

"Yes. Yes, that's right. In some universes the differences are very minor, and in some universes the differences are major."

"In some universes, John Sheppard didn't live. That is what Machine looks for and calculates."

"The question is, why?"

Darius shrugged, seemed to be trying to figure how to phrase it in a way that _McKay_ could understand. This struck McKay as ironic.

"That is what Machine does. Looks for all the possible outcomes. She is given a problem and she will work to find the best solution. She uses the Seer to find the answer."

"But why does she need a person with the Ancient gene? Couldn't she just run the scenario herself?"

"I do not understand what a gene is Dr. McKay. If you mean the Seer's special abilities – she cannot calculate without the Seer. The Seer lets her calculate."

"In other words she needs the Seer to activate her and keep her activated," said McKay.

"No, Machine can still function without a Seer. But she cannot calculate. The Seer is the key and the outcome."

"That's far too cryptic and not at all helpful."

Darius shrugged. "That is how it is written in the scrolls. I do not know how else to explain it."

Their conversation had drawn the attention of the Benevolent Father. "You two! Stop your infernal chatter. If you have to talk, then leave. Darius – take McKay to his room. Explain to him his new duties."

Darius eyes went wide, realizing he'd committed an etiquette error and bowed low. "Of course Benevolent Father. Forgive my rudeness."

Benevolent Father dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "You were distracted. Now go and leave me to my work."

McKay was going to protest and demand to stay but he didn't get an opportunity. He was grabbed by the upper arm and hastily led out of the room.

"Hey!" He said. Then he pulled his arm from Darius. "I'm going to stay here." Because he had to. If for no other reason than to somehow convince himself that ineffectually standing around was helping Sheppard.

"There's nothing you can do here. You would do better to learn your new duties as the Seer's caregiver."

It was the way that Darius said the term that sent a shiver down McKay's spine. Caregiver – a person that looked after the young, the old and… The incapacitated.

"Darius, I think it's better if you let me stay here. I cannot emphasize the point enough."

Darius shook his head. "Did you not listen to the Benevolent Father? We would not kill you, or permanently maim you. But we are not above physical punishment for those that disobey."

Rodney didn't say anything further. He simply followed Darius. He knew he didn't stand a chance and that despite his loyalty to Sheppard, he would be of no use to either of them if he managed to land himself in serious trouble.

He turned his head back, tried to make out what was on the screen. It felt wrong to look. He felt like a voyeur and a witness, all at the same time.

((--))

He'd died. He'd been two and he'd died. He'd died drowning with an oxygen mask strapped to his face, small and not really understanding until the last minute. He'd looked into the eyes of his mother and he'd known then. He managed to say something to her. He said, "Don't worry, Mommy. It's okay."

Except of course that hadn't happened. Yes, John Sheppard the toddler had almost died from pneumonia. He wasn't a child that whined and he did what he would later do as an adult. Keep going until one night he couldn't move any more.

IV antibiotics and a week long stay in hospital had brought him back. His mother and father had both paid him a little too much attention for the next month until they were reassured that he wasn't going to relapse and that if he was sick, he'd bother to tell them.

He felt himself sloshing around in the liquid of Machine. The pain in his body, the feeling of someone trying to drive nails through his head had dulled to a manageable level. He was going to say something like, "Phew, I'm glad that's over." Then he felt himself lurch, his brain pulling another memory and it was 1975 and he was holding his father's gun…

((--))

Teyla had a lot of patience but even she was sick of waiting. Syrus' men let her move around to work off any cramps in her legs, as well as Ronon. They didn't seem concerned that they'd try anything. In fact, they were smug with self assurance. As if they were waiting for Teyla and Ronon to try to escape and they knew perfectly well that Teyla and Ronon didn't stand a chance.

Much like Ronon, Teyla thought that this degree of over confidence would only lead to mistakes. But she didn't like the way Syrus was so handy with a crossbow and she definitely didn't like the way the others kept themselves armed at all times. Ronon could probably take three people by himself and Teyla an equal number, but Syrus' ranks had been swelling as the day went by. They were officially out numbered, and out gunned. She had no desire to get herself killed for no tactical advantage whatsoever.

The sounds of someone running, of branches breaking, put them all on alert. One of Syrus' men burst into the clearing, changed his course and jogged straight to Syrus. He'd been sent ahead to scout for intel on where Sheppard and McKay were being held.

"Syrus, I have bad news. Sheppard and McKay were taken by Brother Darius to the Abbey of the Seer."

"You're sure?"

The man nodded, then waited until Syrus dismissed him. Teyla noted that he did not look pleased by the news at all.

"It appears that I only have two hostages after all."

Teyla approached him warily, hoping that he wasn't prone to mood swings like so many other psychopaths and mercenaries she'd encountered over her lifetime. "You cannot retrieve Sheppard and McKay?"

"If they are in the Abbey, it doesn't bode well."

"They are prisoners?"

"Sort of. They are guests of the Abbey. Whether your friends make it out with their sanity intact is an entirely different matter."

((--))

McKay had followed Darius to a small room furnished with a chair, a table, a single uncomfortable bed, and a simple set of clothing. Two sets of robes and it turned out, some woolen undergarments designed to keep the wearer of the robes reasonably warm. There was also a set of sandals.

"I'm not wearing that," said McKay.

"You are part of the Abbey now. You must not stand out. Those are the Abbey rules."

"I don't do brown. Or robes. My figure doesn't suit them." It was one of his better one-liners.

He hadn't counted on the response however. Darius removed his dagger from his robe sleeve, grabbed McKay by the arm and before McKay could even blink, the right sleeve of his jacket had been sliced from his wrist clear up to his shoulder. He'd jerked back, checked himself quickly for what he was sure would be a twenty-six centimeter gash requiring about five hundred stitches. Fortunately there wasn't even a scratch. This meant instead of panicking, he could go straight to indignant.

"Do you know what you could have done?! Are you crazy?!"

Darius was still clutching the dagger. "You can either put on the robes, or I can call more of my brethren and we can slice your clothes off."

"Well, if you put it like that, I hear robes are really in this year."

Darius stood his ground, crossed his arms.

"I draw the line at undressing with an audience and that would include my girlfriend, if I happened to have one." Rodney made a gesture that Darius should turn around. Darius hesitated briefly and then turned his back.

McKay quickly disrobed, pulled on the woolen vest and the leggings over his underwear. Then he pulled on the robe, finished it off with the rope tied around his waist. Darius turned around again as he was trying to do up the sandals. He still had on his socks. He anticipated Darius' next question.

"I don't do cold feet."

Darius seemed to be prepared to let the socks go in exchange for the wearing of the robes. In fact he seemed bemused. "That is fine. Some our elderly, infirm brothers wear socks."

McKay didn't bother to hide his sneer. "Normally I'd be insulted but my toes say otherwise." Then he picked up his clothes, folded them neatly, put them on the bed and put his shoes to one side.

"Your duties will be to attend to the Seer in the Seer's room."

"Seer's room? You mean he's not going to be in Machine permanently?"

Darius seemed to find his question strange. "No. That would not be right. Seer needs to eat, drink and sleep. Machine cannot give him food, or water. If he stayed in Machine he would die. We do not want the Seer to die if we can help it."

McKay had never been so relieved in his life. If Sheppard was going to be released from Machine on a regular basis, then they stood a chance of getting out of the Abbey. Sheppard would help him figure a way out of this. Because that's what Sheppard did.

Darius led him a short way back towards the antechamber before veering into another corridor. He entered another room and McKay, when he caught a glimpse of the furnishing, couldn't help but let out an appreciative whistle. It may have been primitive but the Brothers were definitely pulling out all the stops for the Seer. The room was huge. A fire roared in an enormous fireplace. A large cast iron pot hung over the fire. A large king sized bed that looked damn luxurious was in the middle of the room. There were chairs, comfortably padded. A table. A large window that let in a lot of natural light. Scrolls in a bookcase on one side of the room.

Okay, they really, really liked the Seer. Rodney figured this was what it was like to be upgraded from the YMCA to the Hilton.

A man, also around the mid-fifties was moving around the room, seemingly to ensure everything was ready. The man was the same height as McKay, a stocky build that was mostly made of wiry muscle. Darius beckoned to him.

"Brother Tibs, come over here. You can help explain the duties of the Seer's caregiver to McKay."

The man did as he was instructed, couldn't help but show his disdain for McKay. "I've been looking after the Seers for thirty years. I do not need any help."

"And you have done an excellent job Brother Tibs. But the Benevolent Father has instructed that you and McKay will be the caregivers. Of course, I will help whenever I can."

McKay decided it would be a great opportunity to at least try and gather some intelligence. Maybe work out what was going on in more detail.

"So… Brother Tibs. How many Seers have you looked after in thirty years?"

Tibs held up his fingers and indicated 'two'. "I looked after the Seer known as Lalm when I first arrived. Lalm and the Machine could not join properly and then I took care of him until he died a year later. Then the Seer known as Desul arrived and I took care of him until the Machine could no longer understand him. He went to the Sisterhood for continued care."

"Okay. So what you're telling me is that a Seer doesn't come along that often."

Tibs nodded.

"Are you also telling me that the Seers have a limited shelf life?"

Darius and Tibs both gave him a confused look.

"What I meant to say is that the Seers appear to get… sick." Or more to the point, from Tibs description, they seemed to go nuts but McKay wasn't going to say it out loud until he knew more.

Tibs once more nodded. "The joining can go well, or it can go badly. Lalm wanted to serve the Abbey and he was loyal. He tried. He tried many times. Machine tried too. But they could not bond. He died inside her."

These were not words that McKay wanted to hear. "Died?"

"Yes. Machine had asked him to stop but he wouldn't. The last time it went wrong and the Seer died inside her. When this happens, the Seer is left to bond with the Machine in death in ways that the Seer could not bond in life."

McKay felt sick. "I don't even want to know, but you're going to tell me anyway."

"Machine needs energy. Machine consumes the dead Seers." Tibs said it in a way that implied it was perfectly natural. "After all, they are dead and it is their last way to serve Machine."

McKay had to go and sit in a chair. Sheppard was in there. In Machine and God's know what else was in there with him. Presuming of course, that she didn't just somehow zap the entire corpse. Then again, from the looks of Machine herself, she didn't exactly appear like an organism that had a nice, clean way of feeding from a corpse. The giant pulsating sac that McKay had seen spoke of messy organic processes that took their sweet time to come to completion.

((--))

Sheppard coughed. At least Machine hadn't dampened down his reflexes. He'd never forgotten the incident from when he was eight. His father was careful with his sidearm. When he took his service weapon home, it was immediately put into a locked metal box and the box was put into a cupboard, which was also locked.

John was not allowed to touch the gun. The gun was for the adults and not for children. His father had lectured him endlessly about gun safety. He had one simple rule drilled into him: if you see someone playing with a gun, and they're not in uniform, you should run and tell an adult.

But he'd been a curious, stubborn kid and the fact that he had to get two keys wasn't going to stop him from being able to hold the gun. He was besotted with it, probably because it was so forbidden. Later on, his father would admit that his own fears had turned the gun into an object of desire and a better tactic would have been to take away some of the mystique. Then again, he'd seen two accidental shootings. You could never be too cautious.

The keys were kept on his father's key ring. His father always put the key ring on his bedside cabinet, within easy reach. To a determined eight-year old, this presented no real problem and neither did the thought of his father's ire counter his plans either. If he was caught, the consequences wouldn't be good. In fact, his father scared the crap out of him. He wasn't a man who showed affection that often, but he was a man who seemed to disapprove of everything John did.

He was more used to being in trouble than being praised, so his punishment for trying to get to the gun would be nothing unexpected. The trick of course, was not to get caught.

With an eight-year old determination and resolve, he'd kept himself awake. Pretended to be asleep when his mother had checked on him around ten in the evening. Heard his mother go to bed and then his father. He'd waited patiently for their bedroom light to go out. Made himself wait long enough for them to go to sleep.

It was a long time for a child but if nothing else Sheppard had learnt early on that delaying immediate gratification usually meant better things.

Carefully, slowly, and quietly, he opened his door, padded across the shag carpet, turned into his parent's room. The bedroom door was open. They left it open out of habit, as a result of his trip to the hospital at two, worried that he wouldn't be able to get to them.

His eyes had adjusted to the dark and it was easy to spot the keys. He wasn't stupid. It didn't make any sense to try to remove the two keys from the key rings. His father was an experienced combat veteran and would be wide awake at a perceived change in his environment. Instead, he would take the entire set, use the keys and then put them back.

Just as carefully, he quietly palmed the key ring, making sure he held the keys tightly so they didn't jangle against each other. Stopped temporarily dead in his tracks when it appeared that his father was stirring. Thankfully the man settled back to sleep and then John turned, crept away, downstairs, towards the cupboard, his heart beating loudly, the blood rushing in his ears.

The cupboard door was easy to open, even in the dark. He didn't dare turn the light on just yet. He gently got the locked box out of the cupboard, headed for the bathroom. Shut the door, turned on the light. Inserted the last key and opened it up.

It was silver and it glinted in the light. One the side the gun was marked: _Colt Mark IV_ . There was nothing for it now. He picked it up. His hand was not big enough to hold the grip properly but he held it as best he could, pointed it as an innocent set of towels hanging from a towel rack.

"John. Put the gun down."

It was his father. He turned his head and his father was there, tall, thrown into shadow by the darkness in the hallway. His heart started beating faster again. He didn't let go of the gun. How had he not heard the bathroom door opening?

"John. Please put the gun down." His father's voice was calm. Soft. Not what he was expecting.

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"We can talk about that later. I want you to put the gun down."

He tried for a different tact, using the logic of a child. "It's okay, Dad. You never leave it loaded. I remember you telling Mom."

"That's not the point. You can never presume that a gun isn't loaded."

He did a dumb thing at that point. Determined to show his father that he knew what he was doing. He tried to slide the hammer back and cock the pistol but that involved using a few more pounds of force than he had in his arms, and in doing so, he wound up with the barrel of the gun pointing upwards and towards his head.

"_John_."

"It's okay, Dad. I know what I'm doing."

He was going to put it down. He was. But his hand was on the grip, his fingers naturally going to the trigger.

_You should never presume that a gun isn't loaded._

The bullet hit him square in the face and exited out of the back of his skull, burying itself in the wall behind him.

The distraught wailings of his father could be heard all the way to the entrance of the base.

((--))

Brother Tibs seemed to be obsessed with baths. With McKay pressed into service, their first task had been to drag a huge, wooden bathtub into the room. It was sealed with pitch by the looks of the substance coatings the sides and it weighed a bloody ton.

Tibs positioned it in front of the fireplace in a way that would keep the bather warm, but not set the bath tub on fire.

McKay was exhausted already and it seemed there was even more work to do. Darius had conveniently excused himself to rejoin the Benevolent Father and monitor the Seer's progress.

Tibs was tugging on his sleeve, and not in a gentle way. It was a sharp yank, as if the man would prefer it if he could just hit McKay instead.

"What now?"

"We have to fetch water and get the bath ready."

"Oh, goody. Presumably the bath is for the Seer?"

Tibs regarded McKay with a barely disguised hate for the sarcastic comment. "You would do well to remember to respect the Seer. And yes, he will need one when Machine releases him."

McKay was beginning to loath the various statements from Tibs and Darius that were perfectly obvious and obtuse, all the same time.

"I need to get some clarification here. Why the bath?"

"He has been inside Machine."

"Great. That answers everything. Fantastic. Well done."

Tibs shot him a look that made the hairs on the back of McKay's neck stand on end. He roughly handed a bucket to McKay.

"There is a well outside. Fetch the water and heat it."

McKay eyed up the cast iron pot, the buckets and the wooden tub. It was going to take the rest of the day if he was lucky. It was going to be a long day.

((--))

"That's not what happened," gasped out the adult Sheppard as he felt the pain of the bullet ripping through his brain.

In his reality, he'd shifted his grip and the bullet had missed his face by a couple of inches. Instead, his ears had rung for a day and he'd then been yelled at, confined to his room, and made to do chores.

But first his father had raced into the bathroom, thrown the gun into the bath, hugged John tightly and then given his child the whipping of his life with the belt from his trousers.

He didn't understand that particular gesture until he was well into adulthood. His father loved him but had no real way to show it. He was a career solider and he'd been in combat and he'd survived. For his father, it was at the cost of shutting down emotionally. It was at the cost of being unable to show his son he loved him except to discipline him.

"This could take some time. It is unusual to encounter so many examples of alternate futures," Machine blurted out. She seemed puzzled.

"Machine, I don't know about you but I think we should just call this whole thing off. I'm pretty sure you're not the life partner I was expecting. I thought they'd be, you know, younger, and prettier and really smart. They'd also be human. I'm big on having a long term relationship with a human. No offence." His voice sounded like he'd been chewing glass for breakfast. Must have been all that non-stop screaming at the beginning of their little tête-à-tête.

"None taken, Seer. We should continue."

"Let's not."

But of course, he had no choice in the matter. She was driving those nails into his head again and now he was fourteen, hormones all over the place, a risk taker in all the wrong ways.

Man, if she hated all the variations in his childhood, she was going to completely freak when he joined up and then shipped out to the first Gulf War.

**End of Chapter Two.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

McKay's arms hurt, his legs hurt, his back hurt. Sometimes he had to regret being a wimpy scientist that wasn't big on physical training. He took pride in the fact that he smirked whenever some squad of grunts ran past him in the corridors of Atlantis dressed in the regulation sweatpants and t-shirts, buckets of sweat running down their faces. Of course, that didn't mean he didn't do any physical exercise at all. There were certain minimal requirements to be met if he expected to continue to be on a team. That had been made perfectly clear to him by Elizabeth.

It's just that he wasn't a gym bunny and he wasn't much for exercising with other people. Or being repeatedly hit with sticks by Teyla or Ronon. The only option left was to sneak out to a pier, make sure it was deserted and try and run around the perimeter a couple of times.

Of course, those same people that he thought were spending an undue amount of time in the gym were exactly the same people that would have found all the fetching and carrying to be no more strenuous than lifting a coffee cup.

He dragged another bucket of water to the cast iron pot, dumped it in, wiped at his forehead. At least the robes were proving practical because he'd found that Brother Tibs was nothing short of a slave driver. A slave driver who seemed to resent his slave. Tibs had yet to threaten him directly but something about the guy creeped McKay out. Maybe it was the fact that McKay's finely honed 'bully radar' was on alert. The one he'd acquired early on life like most science geeks. As a result he knew his best defense was trying to stay out of the way, trying to keep his mouth shut and trying to keep a lookout for any likely avenues of escape. So far, he'd had no luck on any of those points.

He was trying to blend, but blending in with the herd had always been a problem for McKay. He could never find a herd he liked. Or more to the point, the herd didn't like McKay. On top of that the rest of the Abbey seemed to have evolved rather than be deliberately planned and the few areas he'd seen gave him the impression of a maze.

Brother Tibs came over and checked the filling progress. "You have at least five buckets to go. Can't your work any faster?"

McKay felt his upper lip curling up at the news. "I could go faster if I could find a bigger bucket."

"With those flabby arms? I doubt you could lift a bigger bucket off the floor. _Without_ any water in it."

McKay couldn't help himself and said, "Congratulations on the subtle insult."

Brother Tibs narrowed his eyes. "You talk too much. You'd do well to remember to keep your mouth shut." Then Tibs gave him slap on the back, as if he'd told McKay a hilarious joke.

The smack on the back had almost pushed McKay over. McKay took a couple of involuntary steps forward to regain his balance and managed to stop himself from saying anything else. If he was going to make it out to help Sheppard, he had to keep chanting to himself that being as passive as possible might be the only way to gain the monk's trust.

Easier said – or thought – than done. He swallowed down the insult and instead adopted a tone of respectful curiosity. If Tibs thought he was genuinely interested in who Tibs was, Tibs was more likely to give answers. He presumed. "I hope you don't mind Brother Tibs, but I wanted to ask some questions about Machine."

"It is not your place to ask questions."

Rodney tried to adopt a neutral, non threatening, please-don't-hit-me stance. "Of course not, Brother Tibs. I just wanted to… Learn more. So I could help the Seer."

Tibs seemed happier with that line of questioning. "If it helps you do a better job then I shall let you ask some questions. It does not mean I am going to answer them."

"No, no. Of course not. Right, um, let me see… Do you know when the monks first started worshipping Machine?"

Tibs didn't seem happy with that particular question. He frowned. "We do not worship her. She was sent by the Wise Ones to help us. Why would you ask such a question? We are not heathens worshipping any gods we happen upon."

Tibs took a menacing step forward, McKay took a protective step back.

"Right, yes, of course. Stupid of me really," said McKay. Then he picked up the empty bucket. "I'd better go and fill this."

Tibs took another step forward and for some reason McKay thought Tibs was about to punch him. Luckily Tibs next action was interrupted by the arrival of two monks. Holding a set of clothes. Tibs broke his attention from McKay, plastered a smile back on his face and turned to deal with the new arrivals.

"Ah, Brothers! I see you have brought the Seer's new clothing."

One of the monks bowed to Tibs. "We think they may fit, but of course we have not had a chance to measure him. We have more clothes in our work room, if you care to inspect them."

"Of course," said Tibs. "However, I am afraid that I must escort Novice McKay, so he will be accompanying me."

McKay was pretty sure he didn't really want to be escorted by Tibs, but he didn't have any choice. Before he could make it back out to the courtyard, the one that contained the well, Tibs had him by the arm and was dragging him outside anyway.

If it wasn't for the hard grip on his arm, and having to haul up buckets of water from a well, McKay decided he might have enjoyed the courtyard.

The sun was shining onto Tib's weather beaten face. "You must understand the importance of Machine. The Wise Ones wants us to stop the conflict and bring peace to the people. They sent Machine to us so that she could help us."

McKay nodded, found his usual sarcastic tone kicking in. "Right, okay, peace. Very noble. How were you planning to do that exactly?"

Brother Tibs had let go of McKay's arm and was heading off to another exit from the courtyard, the one where the two tailors were eagerly gearing up for fashion week with the Seer. He beckoned McKay to follow. The man's demeanor seemed to have changed now that they were in a more public area and he'd swung from angry to friendly.

"We are peaceful but sometimes violence is needed before the peace can be enforced. We need to know how to enforce the peace."

McKay wasn't adverse to riddles but this was ridiculous. "You're going to make this really difficult for me aren't you? Great. I'm going to spend my entire time here playing Twenty Questions."

"What is Twenty Questions?"

"A game. You'd be very good at it."

Tibs hadn't even paused and now McKay found himself standing in a room piled high with cloth and people rushing around trying to figure out whether the Seer would feel more comfortable in white linen with a high thread count, or something that resembled silk.

McKay felt a tiny pang of jealousy that he quickly damped down. They worshipped the Seer but the job involved being bonded to some weird Ancient sentient technology. Being treated like royalty as a result was more than ample payment for services rendered.

McKay stepped around all the activity and two guys looking at the patterns for the previous Seer's clothing line and tried again to get a straight answer out of Tibs.

"Call me a sucker for punishment, but let's try this one more time. How exactly are you going to enforce the peace?"

Tibs shrugged. "The Brothers have been building an arsenal of weaponry for many centuries. We simply do not use it. Not until the time is right. The Seer and Machine will tell us when."

This was not the news he wanted to hear. "You finally give me an answer and you tell me you've been stocking up on ways to kill other people for a couple of centuries?"

Tibs nodded like it was no big deal.

"Right. So, here's my next request-"

McKay didn't get a chance to finish. Tibs held up a finger to indicate that McKay should be quiet. Normally, he wasn't one to let a finger silence him but for some reason there was a coldness to Tib's expression that made McKay shut up. He'd seen that expression before. On Koyla for one. Tibs face bore a certainty that what he was doing was so absolutely right, his actions were justified.

_The ends justified the means_, thought Rodney. And if that was how the monks were thinking, they just might all be screwed.

((--))

Ronon had moved beyond boredom and irritation. He may have been a soldier, but even soldiers had a point where the futility of a task or situation became intolerable. If he'd been under orders from Sheppard, then yeah, he might have stayed put. Not so much when it was just him and Teyla.

He nudged Teyla in the arm. She was on the verge of going to sleep as Syrus and his men slowly composed the longest list of demands know to the Pegasus Galaxy. They seemed to spend most of their time debating about what they would ask for and then debating what threat they'd use to get it, and then someone would write it down. Painstakingly. On parchment. With ink.

So far he'd heard a variety of suggestions that seemed to involve cutting off their ears, or a finger or a toe and sending it back through the 'gate. The mercenaries were keen on cutting off body parts and to Ronon, it just demonstrated that every so-called tough guy on the planet lacked originality. They also seemed to presume that Ronon and Teyla would just dial up Atlantis without so much as a peep of protest. Again, a demonstration that seemed to imply they weren't big on thinking a situation through with any rigor.

Teyla jerked awake, embarrassed by her lapse. He got in first before she started apologizing.

"It's been a long couple of days with no food, and lots of running. Now we're stuck in the heat of the day. It's only natural."

Teyla tried shifting her position. She was sitting on the grass again, her legs tucked under her. "I do not know about you Ronon, but I am tired of this. I think we would be better making our move, especially as they will not be bringing the Colonel or Doctor McKay to our location."

"I'm with you."

"They do not seem to view us as much of a threat. When I give the signal, it should be an easy matter to-"

A group of armed men burst into the clearing. Syrus looked up in alarm from the papyrus he'd been so carefully preparing. His men were already starting to run when a bullet hit Syrus in the chest.

By the way Syrus crumpled, it would seem a safe bet that he was dead.

The guy who had shot him - a man who looked to be as big as Ronon – reholstered his weapon, wearing a smile of relief and pride. He glanced at Ronon and Teyla, but didn't seem inclined to shoot them as well. Ronon and Teyla got to their feet, found themselves surrounded by heavily armed men again.

"I'm Brytis Tyron and I claim the 'gate for myself."

Teyla, ever the diplomat, put on a smile and tried to look non threatening. "I am Teyla Emmagan."

She didn't get a chance to say much more. Brytis ignored her and instead, bent down to retrieve the half completed list of demands. He cast a critical eye over them.

"Appalling grammar and non existent spelling but I get the general idea. So… Just how much do you think I can trade you for? Because based on this list, it's a substantial amount."

Ronon just rolled his eyes. "Third time in one day. This is stupid."

((--))

The teenage John Sheppard was like many teenage boys. Communicating involved mumbling, and one word responses. Movement involved gangling awkwardness that turned them into hulking Bambis, inadvertently crashing and bumping their way through the scenery. Add to that the awkwardness of the voice changes, the sudden growth spurts and the traitorous nature of their own bodies and it was the sort of thing that could drive a boy to permanent embarrassment until he got comfortable in his own, out of control skin.

John had taken to the habit of ducking his head to avoid eye contact. Girls confused him, he wasn't that sure of himself and his physical attractiveness to the opposite sex meant he was in the unheard of position of being keenly targeted and being too unsure of himself to figure out what to do.

This hadn't gone unnoticed by his peers. Luckily the taunts of 'virgin' didn't phase him. He knew one thing for a fact – who the hell _wasn't_ a virgin at fourteen? Okay, apart from the girl in English who had somehow managed to get pregnant and Tyson Wheeler, who had managed to grow a moustache. John figured if the girl had a baby born with excessive facial hair, it was a safe bet that they'd know who the father was.

His shyness with girls however, didn't translate into his shyness with physical challenges. Or to getting himself into a fight when he felt it was justified. He'd been given a large helping of an overly keen sense of right and wrong even as a kid, and puberty had just amplified it.

Right about now, he was starting to wish that he hadn't knocked over the school bully when he'd been picking on a disabled kid. Especially when the school bully was eighteen, having failed to graduate the previous year.

He was now facing the bully – whose named was Ricky Edgemond – up in the woods, at a place most of the kids came to settle their grudges. Away from the prying eyes of teachers and parents.

John squared his shoulders, tried to figure out how he was going to fight a guy from the football team, who may not exactly have been an outstanding student, but weighed around two hundred pounds and could pick an opposing quarter back up and turf them into the ground without blinking. Especially when John was none of those things. He was definitely not on the bulky side.

Still, he had no way to back out now. If he'd been more of a coward, he would have done what everyone else did and gone to a teacher and complained but that had its own consequences. You got a reputation as a tattle tale and the situation became worse. Tactically, it was a bad move.

He looked around at the large crowd gathering around the two combatants. It was a mixture of older kids and the smaller ones, who had, for today at least, anointed John Sheppard as their savior.

He tried giving himself a pep talk at that point in time, because he was sure he was doing the right thing. Except that Ricky was towering over him like Mt. Rushmore, and it was perhaps a case of doing the right thing and getting clobbered for it.

Ricky it seemed, was enjoying the tension and lead up to the fight just a little too much for John's liking.

"Hey, _virgin_, I hear your daddy is some big time colonel. Hear he's been posted somewhere for the year and that he decided not to take you…"

Clearly the rumor mill at school had been working over time. Seems his family life wasn't entirely private. He decided the better choice was that he wouldn't reply.

Ricky brightened at his silence. "Heard he left because he was sick of having a retarded pussy for a son."

John figured there were some insults you just didn't take. "Shut up."

"Why. You gonna make me _virgin_?"

John curled his fists up and readied himself, making sure he positioned his feet to give himself the maximum balance and that he was braced. Ricky thought it was the funniest thing he'd seen in a while.

Ricky wasn't big on strategy, or for thinking ahead. He simply charged, much like he charged in all of his football games.

In his mental rehearsals of the fight, John had always seen himself as being lithe and nimble, and simply darting out of the way of Ricky. In reality he temporarily froze, and then when he side stepped, he wasn't graceful like a gazelle but more like a baby elephant forced to wear roller-skates. His feet just weren't cooperating on the coordination front.

Ricky connected with John in a body blow that knocked the wind out of John, knocked him clear up into the air, and then hurled his entire body onto the ground with a thud. Head first.

He was dimly aware of some shouts of fright, people running, some of the more sensible kids trying to help him. Ricky was standing over him, a shocked expression on his face as if this was the last thing he would ever thought would happen when you hit someone. Then Ricky was gone, pulled away by a disembodied hand.

There was blood dripping into his eyes.

He heard a kid say, "I think he's gonna die."

And he did.

((--))

McKay figured the water was going to take forever to boil considering the volume, the thickness of the pot and the pathetic nature of the fire. Brother Tibs had told him to wait in the Seer's room until he returned, just in case someone was needed for the Seer when released. If they were summoned, McKay was to fetch Tibs immediately.

Right. Whatever. Stuck in a room with nothing to do, McKay amused himself but sitting on the bed and then by reviewing some of the scrolls so neatly tucked up on the large bookcase. Or maybe he should have thought of it as a scrollcase.

He chose a scroll at random, untied the ribbon and gently unrolled it as best he could. It was a couple of pieces of papyrus, in a text that looked like it was a type of pidgin Ancient, of all things. There were words he recognized, some he didn't and a couple of illustrations that didn't give any clue as to the content. One showed a lone monk sitting under a tree, holding what looked like a chunk of wood and the other showed two monks eating bread together.

He rolled it back up, placed it on the table and grabbed another one. Same deal with the unreadable text, but this one contained a word that worried him. It was the Ancient word for war. The illustration showed a monk at what looked like a desk. The monk was pointing at something that wasn't visible in the illustration.

He also put that scroll to one side and tried for another.

"Bingo."

This one he understood, or at least he understood the subject matter. The illustration clearly showed Machine. But Machine was not in the Abbey room. Machine was drawn as part of a ruin that looked like a deserted temple. Maybe that was where she had originally came from…

"What are you doing?"

McKay hastily put down the scroll, trying his best to look casual and failing. "Um, nothing. Well, not nothing. I was just looking through some scrolls out of curiosity. Trying to learn more about the Abbey and all of your wonderful, outstanding work."

Tibs shook his head. "Prying more like. You know, curiosity killed the tricolored hiteridion."

"We have the same saying. I think ours is better."

"Do not change the subject, McKay." Tibs had that mean look on his face again.

"Okay, okay. I was trying to figure out some of the history around the Abbey. Where Machine came from."

McKay was vaguely hoping that telling the truth would work for a Canadian in the same way it had supposedly worked for George Washington. He held his breath, and waited for Tibs to show him the Abbey's dungeons or torture chambers, or whatever else his imagination could conjure up. That was when Tibs seemed to relent and actually went and pulled a scroll out himself. He showed the unrolled parchment to McKay.

"If you are going to start reading them, you should know that we have a filing system," said Tibs. He pointed at a ribbon. "Blue is for any reading material related to Machine. Green is for material related to the Abby. Red is for any reading material related to the Seer. Black is for trade, property and accounts."

McKay blinked, realized he's missed the fact that the scrolls had been tied by different colored ribbons. Well, he hadn't missed it, he just didn't think it was important.

"I bet you're going to tell me that they should be in a certain order," said McKay.

"Anything blue, green or red goes on the left. Yellow and black goes on the right. Yellow records the lives of the monks and their deaths."

McKay almost didn't trust himself to ask the next question. He was too good at giving himself away because he was a hopeless liar. "I'd be really interested in learning more about the Abbey. Especially since it's going to be my home. So, you're not going to be, uh, unhappy if I read some more?"

"No, as long as it doesn't interfere with your duties." Tibs smiled. It looked like the smile of a hyena.

"I recognize some of the wording, but if you could give me a hand translating the rest of it…"

Again, McKay was aware that he'd somehow managed to say the wrong thing. Tibs mood was mercurial and now he was back to looking annoyed.

Tibs pursed his lips. "Questions, questions, questions. That's all you seem to do. Ask questions. You're not allowed to ask any more questions unless it's directly related to your role as the Seer's caregiver."

"But I-"

"No. No more. I have been more than tolerant."

McKay opened his mouth again but then Tibs was reaching for a large iron poker from the fireplace and McKay promptly shut his mouth.

((--))

Sheppard was experimenting with figuring out how much of his body he could actually move while floating around in the muck known as Machine. He'd determined that he had excellent control of his left little finger, could move his toes around in his boots, blink, cough, move his tongue, and talk. The bonus items like rolling over, walking, waving his arms around, crawling or anything vaguely useful were out and unfortunately the Air Force hadn't trained him in how to kill someone with his little finger. Especially when the someone was a gelatinous blob.

He didn't like the fact that he was finding it hard to figure out what was going on in his immediate environment. The goo that was cushioning him had warmed up to body temperature and he wasn't getting much feedback except for the feeling of Machine trying to use his head as a pin cushion. He still had some sensation left, could occasionally make out the feel of liquid on skin but he was also feeling a sense of disorientation, as if he was just a head and his body was starting to vanish.

Then he felt something kneading and pawing at his back, and for a brief moment he had the strange thought that he'd somehow wound up trapped with a bunch of cats. About two seconds later, his mind got itself oriented and concluded that cats did not swim around in goo.

The kneading grew harder, and something was worming around under his jacket, pulling it away, and his shirt was being hauled up. Or at least, that's what he thought had happened. Hard to tell.

It was a worrying development and one that made him wish his left little finger could somehow manage to help him swim in the opposite direction. He tried moving but nothing much happened, except for some general bobbing around.

"Seer, do not be alarmed."

Oh, yeah. Machine. Always there, even when he didn't want her to be.

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

"It has been some time and my energy reserves are depleted. Machine sometimes uses the Seer so that she may continue to exist. Please do not be frightened. It will not hurt."

The kneading had stopped and he didn't want to contemplate what the hell she was doing to him, the only positive point was that he couldn't feel any pain or much sensation. Which meant if he could feel the kneading sensation, in reality she was probably clubbing him with a plank of wood. Or whatever it was that large ball of sentient goo used to beat people up. Of course, the lack of sensation still didn't apply to his skull.

"Can you at least do me a favor and make it so that I don't feel anything in my head?"

"I am sorry, Seer. That is not possible."

"Then you were lying when you said that you didn't want to hurt me."

"It is not possible. I am sorry." When she said it, she almost sounded as if she regretted doing what she did.

"Okay, tell me this. Why bother with dulling the pain in the rest of my body?"

"Because there are sensations that the Seer would find distressing normally. For example, hunger. It would distract you."

"Loving your logic. You don't think the sensation of having someone taking a nail gun to my forehead isn't distracting?"

"I would stop it if I could. I am sorry."

"You keep saying that, but I'm not feeling the love."

"I am stronger."

"Hurray for you," he said. There wasn't anyway to hide the disdain. He was beginning to hate her like he hated Christine during their protracted breakup. They had conversations and every word was reinterpreted with a subtext full of hate and betrayal.

_He was just a friend. We never slept together. Why don't you believe me?_

Because he couldn't. Because her friend was his friend as well. Because he'd never had many people to rely on and consequently he took betrayal even harder than most people.

Christine's face briefly flared up in his memory but she wasn't what Machine was looking for. Instead he suddenly found himself sitting in the backseat of a 1984 Buick Regal Grand National. A car that wasn't exactly a chick magnet, since it essentially looked like a box stuck on four wheels. On a more positive note, under the hood it was a turbo-charged fuel injected V6, which meant they could compete in the occasional drag at the lights.

It was a night that was hard to forget. His father hated his new set of friends. Somewhere between fourteen and sixteen, John Sheppard had become more interested in escaping his home at every available opportunity. Mainly because whenever his father tried to speak to him, it degenerated into arguments. Arguments that inevitably saw them bringing out the old standards. John hated his father for leaving, for the year that had resulted in their lives disintegrating around them. The Sheppard family had been gone forever after that. His father could only say what he always said. That he did the best that he could, that he didn't know. Get over it. Stop blaming him.

But John couldn't manage that. So he avoided his father and instead hung out with Jimmy, Mike, and Chris. Jimmy would drive the car because Jimmy's father didn't mind. Mike rode shotgun. Chris and John sat in the backseat. With the beer. To be drunk surreptitiously.

For the previous fortnight they had been running raids on gardens all over town and stealing garden gnomes. They hadn't been caught but it was a small town and it wouldn't take long for someone to figure out who was responsible. The gnomes themselves were undamaged and sitting under a tarpaulin in Jimmy's garage. Mike was in charge of taking Polaroids of the gnomes and sending it to the owner along with the hostage note. It was hugely funny at the time. They weren't hurting anyone and intended to return the gnomes the next week.

Teenage pranks. At the time they seemed like a good idea. That was always the problem.

Jimmy took a sip from the beer bottle, passed it back to John.

"My Dad says I'm grounded," said Jimmy.

John smiled. "Really? You don't seem grounded."

"That's because he thinks I'm in my bedroom and he's out having dinner with his latest girlfriend."

"Is she hot?" It was Chris. Winding Jimmy up, because it was so easy.

"Shut up douche bag."

"Maybe she'll be your new mom," said Chris.

"I told you to shut the fuck up," replied Jimmy. He was getting irritated. They could tell by the tone of his voice and they'd developed a game of seeing how long it would take to make Jimmy lose it.

"Ninety Nine luftballons…" Mike. Singing the one song that drove Jimmy up the wall.

"Stop singing that piece of German crap!"

"You don't even know what the lyrics mean," replied Mike smoothly.

"I just know it's not in English."

"That's very multicultural of you," said John, helping the situation along.

"You can shut up too and give me that beer back."

John laughed, handed the bottle back.

Later, he realized he'd had the problem that most teenagers had. He could never imagine actually being hurt or dying. That happened to other people. Old people. Not to him. Not to his friends.

Anyway, what was wrong with four friends driving around in a car on a Friday night, looking for a party?

As always with accidents, it was hard to piece together the events because the lead up seemed innocent enough. Or was it that he was so used to Jimmy driving fast on the back roads and that he loved the sensation of speed? Loved that it felt like they were flying.

Jimmy must have been reading his mind that night. He'd swung the car out to Mitchell's Road. The road was disused. It had been bypassed by a freeway and the truckers that used to pull into the town for food now drove elsewhere. This part of town had been abandoned. The road was in bad repair, but it was still a long stretch of asphalt that begged for a fast car.

Jimmy came to a halt at one end of the road, revved the engine.

"Warp factor nine, Captain?"

The question was directed as always to John.

"Aye," replied John.

Jimmy floored the car, the back end fishtailing a fraction as the back wheels dug into the surface of the road. They yelled like they always did. Yelled with the sheer excitement.

The last thing they expected was an elk. There was no other way to describe it: the elk came out of nowhere. A large, solid animal weighing close to six hundred pounds. Not a lot of choices. Run into the animal, know the elk was dead and they'd probably be dead too, or try and avoid it.

Jimmy wasn't exactly an experienced, cool headed driver. He reacted, made an effort to avoid the animal and brake at the same time. The car swerved, screeched over into the verge of gravel and trees, hit the uneven ground, the front crashing evenly and spectacularly into a tree. Even something as solid as the Buick was going to come off second best at the speed they were going.

The tree carved into the hood, and the engine of the Buick. Jimmy and Mike, in the front seat, received a fatal lesson in physics as their heads smacked into the windshield and the engine block decided to try and get into the front seat.

John and Chris, like everyone else, weren't wearing seat belts. They were pummeled around. Chris went hammering forward, thrown into the front seat, breaking his arms on the back of Mike.

John didn't fare much better. Physics demanded the energy had to go somewhere. Bodies in motion and all that stuff. Equal and opposite energy. Some other stuff he couldn't remember as his body went flying, collided with the back seat, and smashed him backwards, all happening in an instant. Then he was lying in the back seat, dazed, by himself and wondering to himself why his leg was at such a bad angle.

In his reality someone had seen the crash. It was the one night that Mitchell's Road wasn't deserted. The passerby had immediately gone to the nearest pay phone for help. An ambulance had arrived. It had taken forever to get to hospital.

While he was lying there in his hospital bed, his leg held together with metal pins, sporting two black eyes, a cut lip, bruising so bad that he looked like he'd been repeatedly kicked, he'd finally been told that Jimmy and Mike were both dead. Chris might as well have been. In a coma that he'd probably never come out of.

His father turned up, and the only clue to his distress was that he looked pale. He'd parked himself beside John's bed through the long weeks. Hadn't said much. There wasn't much he could really say that John didn't already know himself.

He was a screw up. This confirmed it.

Sometimes John would find himself crying. When he was alone at night. But it was never in front of people. Never in front of his father.

When Machine forced him to live the alternate ending, the one where he died at the scene, he wondered how sick it was that he actually preferred to die.

((--))

Brytis Tyron had turned out to be a more efficient thug than their previous captors. In short order he'd written up a list of demands, tied up Teyla, given the list to Ronon and then told Ronon to dial up Atlantis.

"Tell your people that if they try anything, she dies."

Ronon didn't reply to that, just concentrated on dialing up the right address and formulating his plan. The one that was a long shot but just might work.

The wormhole roared into existence, the event horizon temporarily blowing out from the containment of the 'gate before settling down.

Brytis, gestured that he should step through. If Ronon had his way, Brytis was in for a big shock.

((-))

Sheppard had lost track of time. How long had he been in here? He didn't think it was long. Or maybe it was. Too hard to tell and his mind was now wandering all over the place as Machine tried to ferret out all the known instances in which he could have died.

She'd easily found the major events of his young life but now she was shuttling him forward and backwards like he was a piece of film.

He had now died from choking on a piece of gum, falling down the stairs at his grandmother's house, drowning in a friend's swimming pool, being hit by a car six or seven times, and eating rat poison.

No wonder his father had grey hair early. John Sheppard had managed to get himself into so many near misses it was a miracle he'd made it past kindergarten, let alone his teens.

It was definitely disturbing. Especially since he experienced the death physically every time. Drowning seemed to take forever. The need to breath overrode everything and when he tried he was breathing water and he wanted to cough but there was no way to cough it out because it just came back in… He'd heard it referred to as animal panic. When an animal knew it was going to die and the body twisted and screamed and clawed in the last desperate act just to keep living. Drowning wasn't quick. It was two minutes of blind panic, of knowing you were going to die, of trying to breath a substance that couldn't provide any air.

Experiencing endless, simulated death had left him exhausted, and in pain. He wanted it to stop. He told Machine that, a couple of times. But she ignored him. Like Christine. Like he always thought his father did. Like his mother did, later on, when she'd had enough of both her child and husband.

At this stage he was past reason, and more into begging.

"I want out," he managed to sob. "Let me go."

She seemed to at long last sense his distress.

"Yes. I concur. It is probably a wise idea that you rest now. I will tell the Brothers to come for you."

"Thank God,' He managed to breath out. Dimly he was aware of a change in the temperature, of the light becoming stronger, of something that sounded like a bell ringing. It sounded like a school bell.

Maybe she'd lied. Or maybe he was hallucinating. Then again, he was way past caring.

((--))

For some reason he could hear something that sounded like a school bell. About five minutes later Brother Darius came skidding into the Seer's bedroom, out of breath and looking excited. He ran to McKay.

"Machine is releasing Seer to us!"

McKay nodded, and the kid seemed disappointed that he wasn't excited. Actually, he was half dreading it. God knows what Machine had done to Sheppard. Half of him was excited at the prospect of seeing him again, the other half didn't know what he was going to do if Sheppard was injured or dead.

Darius grabbed him by the sleeve. "You must go!" 

"I promised Tibs I'd fetch him straight away."

"I will do that for you. You must go to the Benevolent Father's room immediately."

Okay, he wasn't going to argue about getting to Sheppard a quickly as possible and he thought he remembered the way. He hightailed it out of the room and did his best to run while hampered by a robe and sandals.

Consequently he arrived out of breath and covered in a fresh layer of sweat. Great, he was going to smell like goat tomorrow and he didn't like his chances of finding a shower any time soon.

He hurtled into the room, looked around wildly while trying to figure out what was going on. Disturbingly Machine was glowing and the Benevolent Father was pacing beside her like an expectant father.

"Ah, Novice McKay. You can help me. I think the Seer is about to make an appearance."

As if on cue, Machine's side started to open up as if she was being gutted by an invisible knife. A yellowish ooze flowed from her, and distressingly it was followed by a leg. A leg attached to a combat boot.

The Benevolent Father didn't hesitate. He grabbed the boot.

"Help me," he called out to McKay. And McKay did because he didn't know what else he was going to do.

Another foot was now dangling out, covered in the same yellowish substance turning the floor into an excuse for liability insurance. His footing was rapidly becoming precarious as he lost all traction. It was like trying to stand up in WD-40.

He grabbed the other boot, tried not to throw up at the sensation of touching this warm, slimy fluid. He tugged along with Benevolent Father and suddenly the tension that was holding the body inside was gone and Sheppard shot out and onto the floor, sending McKay and the Benevolent Father flying backwards.

As McKay tried to get to his feet, he watched as the gash on the side of Machine instantly healed and they were left with Sheppard, lying on his back on the floor.

He made a move to get to his friend and to his shock, he found that Sheppard appeared to be conscious. His eyes were open and he was staring at the ceiling. McKay also noted that Sheppard's forehead was covered in what appeared to be a nasty rash. Apart from that Sheppard seemed astonished to find McKay looking down at him. McKay tried to look reassuring instead of freaked out and thought that the feeling was probably mutual.

"Oh. Hi," croaked out Sheppard. "Am I glad to see you." Then he blinked, tried wiping at his eyes with his hand but wound up smacking himself in the face.

McKay didn't hesitate and used the sleeve of his ever handy robe. The sleeve was dirty but it was a damn sight cleaner and drier than Sheppard was. McKay gently wiped the sleeve across Sheppard's face and tried to ignore the way Sheppard jerked his head away at the touch before allowing McKay to proceed.

"Thanks." Sheppard blinked again and then abruptly tried to sit up. "I've got stuff in my boots."

As if this explained everything. McKay tried pushing him back but Sheppard squirmed away. "I'm not sure you should be moving around just yet."

More Brothers were running into the room. Darius and Tibs, along with a couple of Brothers carrying a stretcher.

Sheppard was having none of it. He tried raising a leg and bending enough to get to his laces. "Seriously. Stuff in my boots. Feet cold."

"Sure. Okay. Why don't I, uh, take them off for you?"

That seemed to be all Sheppard needed. He nodded and stopped trying to move around so much and McKay turned his hand to trying to unlace combat boots while they were covered in the slipperiest substance known to the Pegasus Galaxy.

Sheppard observed McKay, ignoring the activity around him. The stretcher had been dropped down beside him, and now Darius and Tibs were trying to move him onto the stretcher. A hopeless task with an uncooperative and soaking, grease covered Seer, especially a Seer who didn't want to be touched. Sheppard was still uncoordinated but as soon as Darius or Tibs put a hand on him, he would pull away. It was also making life difficult for McKay in the combat boot removal department.

"Seer, if you could roll into the stretcher, we will take you back to your room. You will feel much better," said Tibs.

"McKay is getting my boots off. Aren't you McKay?"

McKay fumbled with the laces again. "Sure. That's right. I'm getting your boots off. If I find out later on that you were perfectly capable of doing this, I am going to make your life hell."

"You don't scare me. I've just been there." Then Sheppard laughed as if he'd just told the funniest joke in the world.

McKay tugged at the boot, managed to get it off. Sheppard was right. Gunk poured out of the boot. It was disgusting.

"I've got one off," he said.

"Yay," said Sheppard.

The Benevolent Father interrupted their banter. "Enough. Seer, you need to rest. Novice McKay will remove the other boot when you get to your room. Now let us take care of you."

Sheppard didn't reply, in fact he didn't seem to have heard. Instead, he decided to make scissoring actions with his legs and wave his arms about. "Look, I made a slime angel."

"Crap. Your brain is toast," said McKay. Softly.

"I heard that, "said Sheppard.

"Look, just do what they tell you and get on the stretcher."

"Okay. Fine. Stretcher it is. By the way, you're not the boss of me."

McKay shook his head, watched as Sheppard clumsily managed to carry out the task. The two Brothers each picked up an end and then everyone was hurrying back along the corridors, back to the room of the Seer.

As they moved with urgency, Sheppard decided it was a great time to sing _Ninety Nine Luftballons_.

((--))

Ronon wasn't sure if his plan was going to work. The Atlantis marines were tough. Not as tough as him but they could certainly make his job harder if they didn't trust his intention.

He barreled through the stargate, arrived in the Gate Room, the wormhole closing down behind him and before anyone had a chance to react, he was grabbing a P-90 off the nearest marine and screaming back up at the Control Room.

"Dial it back up! Dial the planet!"

He got a look of confusion from the 'gate tech, but then he heard Elizabeth's voice.

"Do it. Dial it up. _Now_."

Yeah, she trusted him. That proved it. Not that he'd ever had any doubts.

He was gone from the planet for about five minutes in total and then he was back, firing at everything in his way before anyone had a chance to react because of course when you were a smug bad guy, the last thing you expected was for your captives to actually beat you at your own game.

Teyla, who'd only had her hands tied, ran towards him as soon as he reappeared. Besides, everyone else rapidly backed off as their comrades fell. She kept running, straight through the wormhole. Ronon kept his position, made sure she was safely through. Mercenaries and war lords had a tendency to be less dedicated to anything but their own self preservation.

Brytis put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. Ronon pointed his P-90 at him but didn't fire.

"You can tell everyone on this planet that Ronon Dex claims the 'gate for himself," he said.

**End of Chapter 3.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The Brothers and McKay had moved Sheppard as rapidly as they could. Sheppard had remained conscious the entire way, although it didn't take a doctor to recognize that he was disoriented. As they'd been hurrying down the corridors he'd actually asked if they could take a detour and go to the drive-through because he was hungry. Then he'd called McKay 'Jimmy' and McKay had gone from desperate concern to complete panic.

They entered the room, and the Brothers gently placed the stretcher on the floor. As far as McKay could see, at least there was one advantage. Apart from shoving Sheppard into Machine, no one seemed intent on hurting Sheppard any further. In fact, there was nothing reflected in the Brothers' faces except for genuine concern and for that McKay was endlessly grateful. He had enough to worry about and at least he knew that where Sheppard was concerned, the monks wouldn't be pulling any weird shit.

McKay was also grateful because he didn't actually know what to do anyway. The Brothers, focused on their task, had essentially pushed him into the background. They were currently trying to get Sheppard out of his soaking uniform but Sheppard, in his current state, wasn't cooperating.

Sheppard took an uncoordinated punch at Tibs as Tibs bent to start pulling off his jacket. He managed to connect with the side of Tibs' face. Tibs moved back out of range, but judging by Tibs' non-reaction, there had barely been any force behind the punch.

Darius was tackling the remaining combat boot. They'd left the other one back in the Benevolent Father's room. Sheppard kept trying to jerk his foot away.

"Leave me alone!"

He was starting to struggle in earnest and McKay couldn't blame him. Being stripped by a bunch of guys in robes would have been disconcerting for a person with all his marbles, let alone a guy who didn't even know where he was. It then occurred to McKay that he did have a role to play but it was a role he was going to struggle with because Meredith Rodney McKay just wasn't very good at this one particular task. It was more Carson's area because Carson was kind and empathic and tended to cry at the drop of a hat. McKay wasn't immune to suffering but he preferred to hide any soft side behind a wall of science. Showing that he cared had seen him betrayed too many times to count.

He took a deep breath and crossed over to the stretcher to get into Sheppard's eye line. "Colonel, you're okay. They just want to help."

Sheppard looked at him with glazed eyes and mumbled something quietly that McKay couldn't hear or understand. He bent closer.

"What did you say?"

Sheppard's eyes closed briefly and then he opened them again, seemed to think he was somewhere else. "I said you can take your stupid hazing ritual and shove it up your ass."

"I don't know where the hell you think you are, but it's not a hazing ritual."

"This coming from a man who's dressed like a monk. Who are you anyway? Tell Mitch and Dex that they're dead men."

"Okaaaayyyy. Let's focus here. I'm Rodney McKay. Remember? Annoying scientist that saved your butt too many times to count. Ringing any bells?"

Sheppard blinked, seemed to be processing the information as best he could. "Oh. Hey. Mckay! Hi."

"Hi yourself."

"What happened?"

McKay paused, tried to figure out his best approach. Was it really the time to do a massive recap? Judging by Sheppard's response he doubted Sheppard would be able to process the tale to date in his present condition. He tried for the shortened version.

"As per usual, you're proving that in a previous life you did something really, really crappy."

"I'm sick of being kidnapped. It really screws up the week."

"Tell me about it."

He felt a nudge in his ribs, and turned around to see Tibs indicating he should move out of the way. For once, Tibs didn't appear to be scowling at McKay. Possibly because McKay's approach had resulted in stopping Sheppard from trying to punch any more people.

"Do you think the Seer would let us finish now?"

McKay shrugged, he wasn't sure, but he turned back to Sheppard and hoped the pilot was still temporarily anchored in the here and now.

"You think you can hang on for a while longer? These guys want to make you more presentable."

"I guess. But if I wind up covered in shaving cream and having all my body hair shaved off, I am going to make you pay."

"You know, you're beginning to make me wonder just how kinky the US military is."

"Not kinky. Just a weird sense of team building."

McKay nodded to Tibs. The Brothers went back to their respective tasks and McKay tried to occupy himself by gathering up the sopping clothing and moving it to a pile by the door. Sheppard may have stopped trying to connect with his fists but he was writhing around so much that the Brothers were having a hard time trying to clean him up. He watched as the Brothers maneuvered Sheppard into the tub with as much consideration as possible.

Tibs seemed to be the most solicitous which surprised McKay. The same man who regarded McKay as a source of irritation that was worse than a small, yappy dog was a different person when fulfilling the role he was assigned to.

"Seer, is the water too cool? Do you need it to be warmer?"

Sheppard didn't say anything. He had closed his eyes and looked to be in danger of falling asleep. Tibs beckoned McKay over again.

"We might have to help the Seer."

Sheppard's eyes shot open at the statement. "There's no helping here buddy. Fuck off; I'm not taking a bath with an audience."

Tibs didn't seem to find Sheppard's attitude the least bit offensive. Instead he bowed slightly to indicate that he'd heard Sheppard's command. "Of course, Seer. We will put up a privacy screen. But for your own safety, it would be preferable if your friend McKay at least stayed with you."

"Believe me when I tell you that he's not _that_ much of a friend."

"If you were injured in some way, we would never forgive ourselves. Please reconsider."

Sheppard shook his head, but the motion didn't seem like a good idea. He suddenly stilled himself. "Shit."

McKay moved into action. Well, what passed for action for McKay. "You're not going to puke are you? They just got you in there."

Sheppard didn't reply just leaned himself over the side of the bath, and took some deep breaths. Tibs hurriedly reached for an empty bucket and McKay got an eyeful of a back covered in large blood filled blisters.

McKay eyes went wide. He caught Tibs attention. "What are they?"

Tibs cast an experienced eye over Sheppard's back. "Machine draws energy from the Seer when she needs it. She's very careful. She won't hurt him."

"Won't hurt him?!"

"Lower your voice, McKay. We do not want to upset the Seer."

The man in question just groaned and kept his face pointed towards the bucket.

"If she's not hurting him, do you want to explain why his back is covered in those blisters?"

"She can use any organic source as energy but only the Seer can enter Machine. Otherwise we would feed her. With the Seer, she takes a small quantity of blood."

"You're telling me that Machine is some glorified vampire? Oh, that's just terrific."

Tibs made a shushing motion to McKay. "She is very careful. She takes only the minimum that she needs. Believe me, the Brothers have worked on this problem for centuries. We can find no way to regularly feed her as she will only admit a Seer. We are fortunate in that she needs so little energy to remain aware and functioning."

Sheppard managed to lift his head marginally. "Said food source still feels like he's going to throw up."

Okay, maybe this wasn't the time to be arguing about Machine and paying more attention to Sheppard, who bore a strong resemblance to a drowned rat that had then been dragged across some gravel. McKay made a mental note to ask Tibs about it later and he'd also find out more about the rash on the forehead.

Tibs immediately shouted a few commands to the rest of the Brothers. Darius went and filled a jug of water, the two other Brothers fetched a folding screen and placed it around the bathtub. When Darius returned with the jug and a cup, Sheppard made a grab for the cup, but fumbled and the cup rolled across the floor. Darius ran to get another one. Tibs seemed unimpressed.

"The Seer is still affected his joining by the Machine. You are going to have to hold the cup for him, Darius."

"Nobody is holding anything for me. Go away."

"You are in no condition, Seer. I am sorry but you need us to help you."

"Then who was the wise guy who promised me that I could take a bath alone five minutes ago?"

McKay sighed. Sheppard was being his usual obstinate self and if they sat here and tried to persuade him, the argument was likely to last the rest of the night. He hit upon a bright idea that he could probably pull off with Sheppard in his current addled state. Sheppard could make him pay for it later.

He straightened himself up, and put on his best imitation of a command voice. It wasn't great but maybe it would get Sheppard's attention.

"Colonel! Colonel John Sheppard!"

"What?" Sheppard was still hanging over the side of the tub. It couldn't have been comfortable.

"This is… Colonel Caldwell!"

"Caldwell? What are you doing here?"

McKay wondered that himself. "I heard you're giving these people a bad time. Do you realize they're here to help you?"

Sheppard shifted himself slightly, but didn't bother looking up from his view of the floor. McKay figured Sheppard must really be confused if he wasn't even checking for the source of a bad imitation of Caldwell. McKay wasn't good with military ranks but he had the vague feeling that Caldwell outranked Sheppard as Caldwell was a full colonel. Or maybe not. None of the civilians took any notice of all that rank stuff anyway but if it fooled Sheppard enough for him to settle down, that was all McKay needed. Besides, he wasn't even going to attempt to imitate Elizabeth. Sheppard may have been acting like his senile grandmother but even Sheppard wasn't so far gone that he'd mistake McKay's voice for Elizabeth Weir.

"Colonel, I'm giving you an order. You need to let these people do their job. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

"So we can expect your full cooperation from this point, Colonel?"

"Yes, sir."

McKay thanked God for the military's foresight in making sure that you couldn't say 'no' to a superior officer, even if the superior officer was a fake.

Darius filled a replacement cup with water, held it for Sheppard who started gulping it back without any further complaining. After three cups, the queasiness seemed to ramp itself down enough for Sheppard to stop grasping the sides of the tub. Darius and Tibs made short work of scraping the worst of Machine's fluids off of him – McKay refusing to participate. Sheppard was right. Friendships were ruined by this sort of up close and personal stuff. If Sheppard remembered any of this, McKay decided he'd have to avoid him for the next year.

McKay checked his watch. Sheppard had gone into Machine around eight-fifteen in the morning. It was now just after twenty-one hundred. A long day for both of them.

"McKay, go and fetch the Seer a towel."

He shook himself out of his reverie and did as he was told. It was an impressively good towel, lying on the table. He knew because when he'd been forced to bring it in, along with the endless rounds of water fetching, he'd thought it was the largest and softest towel he'd ever seen.

Taking the towel back, he passed it over to Tibs. Tibs and Darius hauled Sheppard to his feet, wrapped him up, helped him to step out of the tub and hustled him over to the bed. Sheppard was still conscious but definitely running out of steam because he'd gone from complaining to compliant and was no longer trying to yank himself away from the people helping him.

McKay did his bit for the team, and drew back the bed covers. Tibs grabbed a nightshirt, threw it over Sheppard, bundled him into the bed. Used another towel to dry off Sheppard's hair.

Which left Sheppard slumped in the bed, fighting hard not to go to sleep, even though he had five people staring at him. McKay noted that Tibs was beaming proudly at Sheppard and Darius was smiling just as much. The two Brothers who had helped out but as yet remained nameless just looked at Sheppard with a disturbing awe.

Tibs lowered his voice to a whisper. "I want this place cleaned up. _Quietly_. Darius, I want you to fetch some food for the Seer."

"Uh, he looks really tired. Maybe we should just let him sleep," said McKay.

"It is not healthy for the Seer to sleep without some food. He may sleep for some time."

Tiny alarm bells in McKay's head off all went off at the same time. "And when you say some time, what do you mean exactly?"

"The Seer may sleep the entire day. It's too long to be without food in addition to his time with Machine."

"Well, that makes sense," said McKay. Because it did. He couldn't imagine how anyone could go without eating for twelve hours let alone more than twenty-four. In McKay's world, a day without food was a day making a good impersonation of McKay's view of hell. Besides, the blood loss demanded that Sheppard get his own energy reserves restored.

Tibs bustled himself over to Sheppard.

"Seer, you need to eat before you go to sleep."

Sheppard ignored him. Tibs poked him in the arm. Sheppard's eyes opened abruptly.

"Wha…? Are we on alert?"

Tibs looked confused, and McKay once more found himself summoned to take Tibs place.

"No, there's no alert. You're supposed to eat something before you take your nap."

He didn't like the way Sheppard's eyes kept rolling around in his head. It seemed to be a combination of fatigue and the residual effects of whatever Machine had done to him.

Sheppard did manage to respond. "I'm hungry but I'd rather be asleep. Tell Mitch if he flies for me, I'll owe him."

"Colonel, you need to focus here for me."

"Caldwell?"

"Uh, try McKay."

Sheppard did manage to focus again. He gave McKay his all too disturbing hundred mile stare that seemed to have become part of his repertoire and smiled tiredly. "Oh. Hey. Hi, McKay!"

"Hello yourself."

Sheppard looked around the room as if it was the first time he'd seen it. "What happened?"

McKay sighed. Sheppard was in bad shape. "Well, your brain has been turned into pudding by an Ancient machine and the monks are trying to make sure you don't die."

"Oh. That's nice of them."

Darius had come back with a tray from the kitchen in record time. The kitchen had been ready to act for the entire day, concentrating on making a sophisticated array of food for the Seer, should the Seer be unable to decide between the local equivalents of pate or roast duck.

Darius had clearly decided that pate or roast duck for the Seer was overly ambitious on the first day. He'd come back with some bread and stew. The same thing the monks ate. It wasn't exactly luxury food but it tasted good, and it filled the stomach. McKay knew this because he'd had the same meal for lunch and dinner and more bread for a mid afternoon snack before Tibs had made nasty remarks about McKay resembling a pig and banned him from the kitchen until breakfast.

Sheppard seemed to be getting better at coordinating his hands and arms and when the tray was placed on his lap, he managed to wrap his fingers around the spoon before closing his eyes and starting to drift off.

McKay took over from Tibs and gave Sheppard a shake. "Eat first, sleep later."

Sheppard jerked himself awake, did he as told on automatic, in between bouts of head nodding. At some point he gave up holding the spoon for himself. It was like watching a sleepy toddler about to go face down in his oatmeal. Between prodding Sheppard to keep him awake, and simply holding the spoon and getting him to open his mouth, they managed to get half a bowl of stew into him and a couple of bites of bread.

Everyone seemed to collectively agree that it was enough. Tibs took the tray away and Sheppard collapsed, then and there. Tibs and Darius made sure he was half propped up on the pillows, at a forty-five degree angle.

McKay watched Sheppard sleeping for a few minutes, just to convince himself that Sheppard hadn't died. The Brothers busied themselves with tidying, cleaning and working on emptying the tub.

Tibs noticed McKay's glum expression, and seemed to take pity on McKay. Or maybe it was because once more Tibs had an audience and McKay knew that when Tibs had an audience he was all sweetness and light.

"You should not worry. He is just sleeping but it is a deep sleep and nothing will rouse him from this point on until he is ready to wake up."

That didn't make McKay happy. "So, basically, he's in a coma or something and he won't be playing a game of chess any time soon. Right?"

Tibs frowned. "You say some very strange things."

"You're not the first person to tell me that. Believe me."

Tibs nodded and then seemed to arrive at a way to distract McKay from his morbid thoughts. "Take the Seer's clothes to the laundry and then you may retire for the night."

McKay shook his head. "I think I'd rather stay here. Make sure he's okay."

"From now on, someone will always be with the Seer to ensure that nothing happens to him. You should not worry."

"Right. You keep saying that but so far worrying is all I've done."

"Finish your chores and then go to bed." Tibs command voice was back, signaling that he was running out of patience.

McKay reluctantly did as he was told.

((--))

Elizabeth Weir's office was crowded. She'd meant to have the meeting in the conference room, but the crisis had resulted in everyone conferring in a hurry. Ronon and Teyla had marched straight up to see her once they'd arrived back through the stargate and she'd promptly called in the appropriate personnel.

Her office now contained the following: local pottery, a wall hanging, a desk, a laptop, a pissed off Satedan runner, and a livid Athosian warrior. This was mixed with a concerned Scottish doctor, a gung-ho major and a rational but also concerned Czechoslovakian scientist.

At the moment, Ronon was proposing that they take a jumper through the stargate and start shooting. Teyla, somewhat unexpectedly, was in agreement. Lorne was siding with Ronon but opting for more intel, and Zelenka was saying something about further research. She held up her hands to quiet them down.

"Let's everyone take a deep breath and go over this one more time. Teyla…"

Teyla nodded to her and began relaying what they knew. "The local countryside is caught between many factions of local war lords. They control all commerce on the planet. They also fight amongst themselves for access and control to the stargate, as we found out."

Ronon added his own information. "When we came through, the 'gate was under guard by armed men. At the time they let us walk through without any further problems. Told us that they were just there to protect off-worlders but it turns out that they were more interested in making people pay a toll to travel back to their own worlds."

Elizabeth decided that Ronon was definitely concerned when he started speaking in more than one sentence. She crossed her arms. "Presumably they earned enough money to make control valuable."

"Seems they have an agreement for toll payments with several other races on the understanding that their trade wouldn't be hampered. The stargate looks like a major hub for the movement of arms and drugs," said Ronon.

"Economies based on the trade of contraband have a habit of being highly unstable," said Zelenka.

"We investigated the immediate area, and interacted with the locals. They did not pay too much attention to us until Sheppard walked past some Ancient technology in the town's square," said Teyla.

"There were a lot of flashing lights," said Ronon.

"Thirty minutes later Dren turned up. Colonel Sheppard ordered us back to the 'gate but we were separated," said Teyla.

"Deliberately," added Ronon.

"After that we were held at the stargate by a number of war lords with demands. That was when we were told by Syrus that Sheppard and McKay were being held at the Abbey of the Seer."

"Do we know anything more?" Asked Elizabeth, not really expecting a response.

Zelenka pushed his glasses back up to his face, tapped at his laptop. "Actually, we do."

"We do?"

Zelenka showed her his screen, containing Ancient text. "There is mention of a Seer in some of the Ancient texts. They are not very helpful as the reference seems to be contained in a type of private journal. Someone on Atlantis wrote about the Seer but does not offer any explanation."

Elizabeth came over to Zelenka, took the laptop from him to read the text herself. She read out loud to the group. "The Seer is the key to many locks. Locks which keep us from our answer. If we can reach an agreement on who the Seer is, I feel this experiment may solve our problems once and for all. The council will make a decision tonight."

She paused, looked back at Zelenka, as puzzled as he was. "Is there a record of the council meeting?"

"I cannot find anything that mentions the Seer or the council in any other capacity. I do not know if this is because the records have been lost or deleted."

"Or were never recorded in the first place," said Lorne. "If they wanted to keep it a secret, they wouldn't have left any records."

Beckett had remained quiet up until now. "We know from previous experience that the Ancients could be lax when it came to experimentation. I don't like the sounds of this."

Elizabeth nodded. "I have to concur. Okay, we need to formulate a plan for retrieving McKay and Sheppard. Suggestions?"

"We're going to need to get a lot more intel for a start. Determine the location of the Abbey and what its defensive capabilities are," said Lorne.

"Agreed. Major Lorne, take a squad in with a cloaked jumper. Perform a grid search from the air and see what you can find, then report back."

Lorne didn't need to be told twice. "Ma'am."

Teyla and Ronon both got to their feet before Elizabeth had a chance to say anything further.

"We would like to accompany Major Lorne to the planet," said Teyla.

"But lass, I haven't even had a chance to check you both out yet," said Beckett.

"We are fine, Dr. Beckett."

Beckett backed off. "Of course you are. Everyone is always fine in this place. Even when their leg is due to drop off."

"Carson, I'm sure they'd tell you if there was something wrong." Elizabeth smiled at him.

"Aye. I'm sure they will. I'm just never happy when Sheppard's team is off-world. They keep winding up in the infirmary and it's making me paranoid."

Elizabeth nodded and watched Teyla, Ronon and Lorne leave. "I know exactly what you mean."

((--))

Carson Beckett wasn't lying when he said that Sheppard's team had left him with a sense of paranoia mixed with concern. Call it a doctor's instincts but it was inevitable if they were delayed in coming back, it meant someone was coming back in less than stellar shape.

He trudged back to the infirmary and started what had become a familiar routine. He checked the level of plasma and blood products on hand and made sure he had Sheppard and McKay's blood types stocked up. He made sure he had a couple of empty beds. He made sure his anesthetist and surgical team had been informed. He pulled up Sheppard and McKay's medical histories, which were now about twelve-centimeters deep if he tried to print them, and reviewed them, even if he knew them off by heart.

Sometimes being the CMO of Atlantis just depressed the hell out of him.

((--))

Sheppard thought he was floating. Then he wasn't. Then he thought he was drowning and he woke with a start.

He wasn't the infirmary, he knew that much. No familiar sounds, no familiar smells. He wasn't a fan of the infirmary but it meant that if he woke up there, he certainly wasn't going to be waking up somewhere else. Like in a cell or face down in the dirt.

Still, if this was a prison, it was a comfy prison and if the smell wasn't familiar at least it wasn't an unpleasant stench. Just the smell of soap, and maybe some food. He had a vague recollection of eating but it occurred to him that he had no idea what he'd eaten or how'd he got here.

His thinking felt fuzzy, like he'd been drinking, but he didn't think he had – or at least he didn't have any recollection of a good time before suffering the after effects. Whatever had happened, it was time to try and get out of the mess. He struggled to get himself sitting up, and let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. He had a hell of a headache, his back was killing him, he needed to take a leak and he needed to find McKay. In no specific order.

He forced himself to wait a few moments longer, because he was starting to make out some shapes around the room. One of the shapes looked as if there as another occupant asleep in the room with him. The optimist in him hoped it was McKay but the realist – the one that had been at the receiving end of numerous beatings and kidnappings – said it was probably just his captors making sure he didn't escape.

Although, it was odd that his captor was asleep. Guards generally tried to stay awake when guarding. It was part of their job description.

Still, it did make his own job of escaping easier.

Slowly, he slid himself out of the bed, found himself standing shakily on his two feet and shuffled his way across the floor, also hoping he could find some clothes. It definitely wasn't going to be his finest moment if he escaped clad in nothing but a nightshirt, and an oversized one at that.

He kept shuffling, doing his best to remain coordinated and upright and had just reached the door when, as tended to happen when he was involved, the fates intervened and his captor suddenly woke up.

"Seer, is that you?"

"Um, yes," he replied. Winced at both his fantastic reply and the headache that seemed to get worse with speaking. Score one for inventiveness.

"Seer, you must not get out of bed. You need to rest."

The indistinct blob had gone from being horizontally positioned to vertical and he was moving towards Sheppard. Sheppard thought that about now he should make a run for it and not wait around for his captor to get any closer.

He reached for the large door handle and to his utter dismay, found he could only move the handle by a fraction. It wasn't locked. He just didn't have the strength.

"Seer, you need to rest. I can get you anything you need."

Sheppard felt himself beginning to experience a sense of fear and that was a sensation he tried hard to avoid. Especially in a situation like this, where remaining calm was essential. He rattled the door handle again, then wondered if he could take out his captor and then decided against it. If he couldn't open a door, his chances of punching anyone hard enough to take them out were non-existent.

Time for a change of tactic.

"Where's McKay?"

"I sent him back to his room. All the other Seers before you slept for at least a day."

"I'd like to see him." At least he knew McKay was alive.

"Of course. I can send Brother Darius to fetch him."

His captor didn't make any more moves towards him and seemed to be weighing up what he was going to do with Sheppard. Sheppard stayed where he was, even though he was beginning to feel cold. The monk observed him for another few seconds and then turned and went to a lantern on the table. He lit it and then went and found some more lanterns, which he also lit and turned up until there was enough immediate light for them to see each other, and for Sheppard to make out more of the room.

"You should be back in bed."

"I'm good. Thanks for the offer."

The man pointed at the door. "You will need to move if I am to summon Brother Darius."

"Sure," he replied. This was easy. The monk was actually going to open the door for him. All he needed to do was try to appear non-threatening and make a break for it when he had a chance.

The monk did as he said. He opened the door and stepped out into the corridor and Sheppard executed his move and made a break.

Sheppard didn't get very far. As his legs collapsed under him without warning and he hit the stone floor, it occurred to him that he should have figured out his chances of running were slim if he hadn't been able to actually use a door handle.

The monk hurried over to him, knelt beside him.

"Seer, are you hurt?"

"Nothing but my dignity," he rasped out and tried not to show any signs that he was sure that the top of his head was about to fall off.

"Would you like me to help you?"

"No, thanks. I'm just gonna lie here and wait until I see McKay." It seemed as good as choice as any. Besides, if he was going to have to suffer the indignity of being hauled off the floor and put back into bed without any choice in the matter, he'd at least like to delay it as long as possible. Even though lying down in a bed held a lot of appeal in his current condition. An appeal he would have to ignore until he could get back to Atlantis.

His captor stood up and went a short distance down the dimly lit hallway to a bell. Which he rang and Sheppard felt his one brief shot at escape vanishing from sight. Within five minutes, another monk was running towards him, looking exceedingly distressed by the sight of the Seer sprawled in a heap on the floor.

"Brother Tibs, what happened?"

Sheppard's captor seemed perfectly calm. "Ah, Brother Darius… The Seer decided that he should go for a walk. Go and fetch McKay. He refuses to allow me to move him until he has seen McKay."

Darius bowed and took off running back down the hallway. Leaving Sheppard and Tibs exactly where they were. Sheppard involuntarily shivered and cursed the fact that Tibs noticed.

"I am going to get you a blanket. I will be back shortly."

Tibs left without saying another word, and Sheppard was left alone in the hallway, the cold from the stones starting to seep into his flesh and a strange panic welling up in him as he found himself immobile and alone.

The sounds of footsteps signaled the rapid return of Tibs, who had kept his word and fetched a blanket. He placed it over Sheppard and then sat down beside him on the floor.

"This really is most unusual, Seer. You are supposed to be sleeping."

"Call of nature," he said for something to say and it sounded like a better excuse than, 'I was trying to escape'.

"You should have said."

"I just did."

More footfalls, the sounds of running and an out of breath McKay was beside him about twenty seconds later.

"What in the hell are you doing, you idiot?!"

Clearly McKay was happy to see him. "What does it look like, Friar Tuck? I tried going for a stroll and wound up lying on the floor."

McKay snorted. "You can quit it with the Friar Tuck thing right now."

"But it suits you."

"And we're getting you off this damn floor." McKay turned to the other monks. "Give me a hand."

McKay didn't seem to notice that Tibs bridled at the command but it didn't go unnoticed by Sheppard. Tibs was possibly more dangerous than he first appeared.

The three men managed to haul Sheppard to his feet, swivel him around and half drag him back to the room. Sheppard for his part tried to ignore the way his flesh crawled where hands touched him. McKay took over with getting him back to bed and Tibs proudly presented Sheppard with the equivalent of a bedpan.

"If only I had a camera with me," smirked McKay.

"That's cute, Friar Tuck. Wait until I tell everyone how cool you looked in robes and sandals and socks."

"Shut up," replied McKay with gusto, clearly enjoying having a chance to indulge in some repartee with Sheppard.

He was about to say something else when Tibs interrupted. It seemed Tibs had reached his breaking point when it came to witty banter.

"McKay, you must _not_ speak to the Seer like that!" Tibs face was going red. With anger.

"It's okay. We do this all the time," said McKay.

"No! I will _not_ have you speaking like this! Apologize immediately to the Seer and your penance shall be small."

"Tibs, come on, he's not insulted. Really."

Sheppard reached over and grabbed McKay's forearm before he said anything else. Tibs was angry and angry people weren't always in control. He hissed a warning at the scientist.

"_Mckay_…"

McKay swatted at Sheppard's arm lightly and that was enough to send Tibs over the edge. Tibs roughly grabbed McKay, pushing him away from the bed with enough force that McKay staggered before regaining his balance.

"The Seer is to be respected at all times. You will be punished for this transgression. Brother Darius!"

The younger man stepped forward, bowing to Tibs and Sheppard as he did so and waited for Tibs to continue.

"Take McKay to his room and lock him in. I will deal with him tomorrow."

McKay was indignant. "Hey! Sheppard's my friend and he asked for me. You're supposed to do what the Seer tells you!"

"Not when the Seer is clearly a danger to himself. Get him out!"

Darius manhandled McKay towards the door and Sheppard tensed because it looked like McKay might just put up a struggle and he was in no shape to help him or prevent him from being hurt.

"Rodney, it's okay… I'll figure something out."

"Sure, sure you will. Is this before or after Darius breaks my arm?"

"Enough!" Tibs shrieked. "You have too much love of talking McKay!"

"McKay, just do as you're told," said Sheppard, hoping it would calm Tibs down.

McKay relented without saying another word and let Darius guide him out of the door. Sheppard had no idea what Tibs had planned for McKay but he was going to make damn sure that he used whatever influence he had as the so-called Seer to give McKay a break.

Tibs took some deep breaths and seemed to rapidly calm down with McKay out of his sight. He moved around the bed, tucking Sheppard in and straightening the covers.

"That man will be my early death. How do you tolerate him, Seer?"

"He's my friend."

"I do not understand why someone so irritating could be your friend."

Sheppard shrugged. "He's the smartest guy in the Pegasus Galaxy and he's great at saving my neck."

Tibs regarded him silently and didn't bother to reply. Instead he crossed to a table, seemed to be putting some powder in a bowl and mug. He picked up the bowl, a cloth and the mug.

"If you are going to insist on being awake, then I should apply a salve to the marks on your back and forehead and give you a drink for the headache."

Tibs crossed back to the bed, placed the bowl on the bed, gave the mug to Sheppard.

"Drink this."

Sheppard regarded the mug suspiciously. "Thanks but I'm okay. Not in the slightest bit thirsty."

"It will make you feel better."

"No, thanks."

Tibs narrowed his eyes and Sheppard thought that he was in as much trouble as McKay. Tibs went to a chair, sat down and waited. Didn't say anything, didn't move and Sheppard was getting more uneasy by the second. The man's mood swings didn't bode well when it came to predicting the man's behavior.

It turned out that Tibs was waiting on Darius to return from his task of locking up McKay for the night.

"Brother Darius, I need to give some medicine for pain to the Seer and he is not cooperating. If you could assist me, I would appreciate it."

"Of course."

"He has been combative, so we will need to use force."

Force wasn't good, not in his current state. Sheppard held out his hands in a gesture of peace. Darius seemed more sensible and stable than Tibs, maybe he could make an appeal to the kid.

Darius and Tibs meanwhile had arrived at his bedside. Tibs gave his young Brother some more instructions. "If you hold his arms, I'll make sure he drinks."

Sheppard turned his full attention to Darius. "Darius, you might not like to hear this, but I think Tibs has got some problems. As the Seer, I'd just like you to stop and consider for a moment whether you should be doing this."

Darius it seemed, had considered. Seemed like a kind guy, sensible, always knew to obey his elders.

"I am sorry, Seer. But you are not well and Brother Tibs can help you get better."

Darius concluded his speech by grabbing Sheppard's arms and pinning him down on the mattress. Sheppard tried struggling but failed. Darius easily held him down. Tibs then grabbed Sheppard's nose and held it in the classic universal maneuver used by mothers everywhere.

Sheppard thought he had two choices. Hold his breath until he couldn't or just get it over and done with. Stubborn as always he elected to hold his breath, just to spite Tibs.

As they waited, Sheppard's body getting desperate for oxygen, Sheppard thought that Tibs was beginning to remind him of his father. He held out for another minute, and then he couldn't hold out any longer. He opened his mouth, took a deep breath and got a mouthful of fluid a second later. Before he had a chance to spit it out, Tibs had forced his jaw shut. Sheppard thought the fluid tasted vaguely like aspirin. He also declined to swallow.

Tibs regarded him with eyes that said he would not tolerate any more dissent.

"Seer, you can swallow this or I'll make sure that part of McKay's punishment is to have his tongue cut out."

Darius didn't say anything but he did give Tibs a curious look, as if he hadn't expected such a threat from Tibs.

Sheppard knew that he had no choice. He had to make sure that McKay was okay and at least one of them made it out alive. He swallowed. Tibs made a gesture for him to open his mouth and he got another mouthful. He swallowed again. Tibs repeated the process until the mug was empty.

"Now, Seer, there will be no more of this. You will let us take care of you so that Machine can continue."

Sheppard didn't respond because whatever he'd been forced to drink was definitely kicking in. Tibs head seemed to be growing larger and the room was spinning.

His last thought before the drug forced him into sleep was that he really, really did need to take a leak.

((--))


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

It was early morning on the planet when they exited the stargate in a cloaked jumper. The sky contained a soft pink glow as the sun began to rise and at any other time watching dawn on another planet might have been a charming distraction.

Waiting for the first hint of light before taking the jumper through the 'gate had seen ten hours pass since Ronon had make it back to Atlantis. This did not improve Ronon's mood even though he knew that Lorne wanted to do their first reconnaissance mission in daylight so that they could easily identify the various landmarks and buildings in the vicinity.

As they'd sailed through the stargate, and watched the perplexed expressions on the faces of Brytis and his men, Ronon wondered why no one had bothered to put loud speakers on jumpers. If there was ever a need for them, it was now. Just so that as the cloaked jumper exited the 'gate, Ronon could shout down at Brytis' men some choice Satedan phrases that not only implied they were born out of wedlock but that their mothers would have no idea who their father was. Then he could have watched Brytis and his men run away in fright.

Since there was no loudspeaker, he decided to make a more practical suggestion to Lorne.

"You should land the jumper on them."

Teyla snickered at the suggestion and Lorne tried to keep a straight face.

"You really hate those guys," said Lorne.

"I don't like bullies," he replied in his usual smooth tone. No use putting any emotion behind the statement because a fact was a fact.

'Me neither," said Lorne. "Unfortunately we'd have to explain to Dr. Weir why the bottom of the jumper was covered in blood. Apart from that, I think it's a great idea."

Lorne banked to the left, heading for the town. Ronon sat in his seat, wished they could just get it all over with. It wasn't that he didn't have any patience, because he did. Just that he'd become accustomed to having seconds to act, and hoping later that he'd made the right decision. There wasn't any time to ponder the path taken when he was being pursued by the Wraith and he'd begun to rely heavily on his instincts. He knew who he trusted, and who he disliked as soon as he met them.

He knew he trusted Teyla and Sheppard because if he didn't he would have shot them as soon as he met them, rather than tying them up in the cave. He knew he disliked every single avaricious man, woman and child he'd encountered on the planet. If they weren't trying to sell their grandmothers, they were trying to sell whoever was standing around at the time.

Ronon was a man who'd lost not just his family but nearly everyone from his planet. He didn't particularly care for a race that preyed on each other for fun and profit.

He put his hand on his blaster, swore to the Satedan God of War that if Sheppard and McKay had been harmed in any way, he'd make the people responsible pay with their lives.

((--))

McKay had given up pacing the floor around midnight according to his trusty digital watch. Coming to the obvious conclusion that he couldn't do anything more for Sheppard, he came to the more logical conclusion that getting some sleep might be a good idea. After all, when the time came to escape, it wouldn't pay for McKay to be in a bad way, since he'd come to the even more logical conclusion that it was up to him to save both their hides.

With Atlantis' resident G I Joe currently unconscious in a bed, his brain now toasted with nuts, there was no way Sheppard was going to pull off some amazing military tactic any time soon. Nope, McKay thought, the escape was down to the resident scientist with the brain as big as a planet and the fighting skills of a kitten. Namely: him. Rodney McKay.

He'd kicked off his sandals and managed to lie down on the lumpy shape that was pretending to be a mattress. Then he'd sat up, tried to beat the mattress into shape.

"What are they filling with this? Potatoes?" He was talking to himself, but he didn't care. He did it all the time anyway, when he was alone. Kept up a running one sided conversation. He liked to call it 'thinking out loud'. When caught in the act by Sheppard he'd sullenly defended himself by stating that it was only a problem if he actually answered himself.

He punched the mattress again and tried to get comfortable, telling himself that he was going to have to try and sleep, even if his back was permanently kinked by the effort.

The blanket they'd given him was thick but he only had one, and the pillow was as bad as the mattress. A draft blew under the door. The room was lit by a couple of lanterns and McKay decided that he wouldn't blow them out just yet. He was not freezing but he wasn't exactly toasty and he was too anxious to close his eyes.

Mainly due to Brother Tibs. Who was starting to scare the crap out of him. Even Darius seemed rattled but Darius couldn't be drawn on the subject. Instead he'd told McKay that he would come back and release McKay in the morning and Tibs would have decided on his punishment by then.

McKay tried to get an idea about how the whole punishment deal would go down. Visions of people being burnt at the stake crossed his mind, or being shoved into an iron maiden, or being stretched on the rack and he wanted none of it.

Darius was insulted. "We do not hurt people. We show them how they are in error and how their behavior can be corrected."

"Darius, I'm noticing a disturbing theme where everyone in this place claims they have no desire to hurt anyone and then do it anyway."

The man in question didn't bother replying. Instead he abruptly left, a strange look on his face. McKay had watched as the heavy wooden door swung shut. He'd heard the lock turn over. He knew he was stuck for the duration.

Sleep, it turned out, was elusive. He turned on his side, thought there was nothing for him to do but stare at a wall for around eight hours with a bad case of anxiety induced reflux pushing his stomach acid half way up his esophagus. Then he noticed the book.

The book placed squarely onto the desk. There was no choice but to utilize the only form of distraction provided.

It was a plain, square thing. The cover was leather and bore no title on the front or the spine. He picked it up, took it back to the bed. Did as he always did with books – flicked quickly through it to get a general feel for the contents. The entire book was hand printed. Presumably by some poor monk with a bad case of hand cramps. It reminded him of illuminated manuscripts. Consequently it didn't come with a table of contents.

He randomly picked what looked like the start of a chapter and tried to figure out what it said. It may have been written in pidgin Ancient but once more he found himself viewing familiar pictures. Machine seemed to be a favorite character, but she was also linked up to something else in the book. A strange figure that McKay figured was probably the monks' representation of the Wise Ones. Although it seemed the appearance of the Ancients had been evolved over time and they were now represented as white glowing blobs with the faces of pixies in a bad mood.

Well, he had nothing to do and it was as good as time as any to try and get to the grips with the written language. He wasn't a linguist but if he could start putting some context around the paragraphs he thought he might be able to read entire passages and if he could do that, he wondered if there weren't some clues buried on the pages as to what exactly Machine did and how she managed to wind up in the company of a bunch of monks.

He employed all of his powers of concentration and didn't bother to put the book down until he noticed that the room was getting lighter and the first rays of the sun were beginning to spread over the floor.

Shortly after noticing that sunlight had returned to his dingy little room, he heard the sound of the door being unlocked.

((--))

Sometimes a land mark was blatantly obvious. Like the Abbey. It towered above the rest of the houses and other buildings in the town. Lorne simply flew towards the tallest spire.

Lorne pointed down towards the enclosed stone buildings, the courtyard, the enormous entry gate and the jutting spires in the middle, along with the robed figures scurrying in and out of another entrance to the back of the escarpment and it was obvious they had found the Abbey.

They observed for a while, hovering well out of the reach of any weapons and so that no one would notice the air disturbance from the jumper. They could still observe the small figures below them, and they could clearly see the activities taking place even if they couldn't make out the detail of the individuals. It wasn't hard to spot that wherever the monks went in the town, a path opened out before them.

"Seems like the monks are respected," said Lorne.

"Or feared," countered Ronon without a moment's hesitation. Ronon had learnt early on in his life that an individual's attraction to the religious life had no direct link to a person's spiritual qualities.

"What is our next step?" It was Teyla. Just as anxious as Ronon to get to the Sheppard and McKay.

Lorne did another slow circuit of the Abbey, scanning the area for any weak points. "There's no way we're going to get through the gate. We'd need C4 to blast it open and a squad of marines."

"The monks themselves are an unknown adversary but any use of weaponry is bound to attract the attention of the various competing gangs," said Teyla.

Lorne let the jumper hang over the courtyard of the Abbey. It was a large space but the various structures in the middle, including the well, seemed to preclude landing the jumper directly. Monks seemed to use the courtyard as a central point for getting to other parts of the Abbey. One monk was standing by the well, unmoving.

Lorne sized up the tactical advantages of the courtyard. "Do we have enough fire power to make the gangs think twice before attacking us?"

Ronon summed it up. "Nope. They have fire power and man power and that means someone is going to get hurt."

"Agreed," replied Lorne. "What about dropping down directly into the Abbey? Do a disembark rappel direct from the jumper, get a squad into the courtyard, extract Sheppard and McKay. Winch them back."

Ronon nodded. "Could work."

"Yes, it could. But we would not have any second chance should it go wrong," said Teyla.

"Okay, let's see if we can get a location for Sheppard and McKay on the HUD."

((--))

Sheppard was finding it hard to wake up and it wasn't hard to figure out why. He'd been sedated and he'd been through the experience enough times to recognize the signs of drop-dead wariness that hung around long after you managed to wake up. It usually sent a person straight back to sleep while the body attempted to rid itself of the last of the drug.

The sun was well and truly up and the strong morning light was turning the Seer's room into an entirely different environment. It certainly wasn't as threatening as it had been in the night.

Opening his eyes he looked around the room and noticed that Tibs was working at the table with two other men, seemingly stitching up clothing. Disturbingly, he thought the bed was wet and he debated about rolling over but that would attract Tibs' attention so he opted for closing his eyes again but it was too late. Tibs had somehow noticed his one small sign of consciousness.

"Ah, Seer! You are awake. This pleases me."

"Yeah," he replied in a tone that tried to convey how very unconcerned and unexcited he was. At the same time, he tried to ignore the most logical reason the bed was wet.

"You must be hungry. What would you like for breakfast?"

"Nothing. I'd like to see Rodney." On the plus side, at least his brain seemed to be back up to speed. He was definitely thinking on all cylinders.

"You mean your friend McKay?"

"Yes. He has a first name. It's Rodney."

"How curious. We only have one name at the Abbey."

For whatever reason, Tibs was back to being the picture of hospitality and even temper. Very different to the angry man from the night before. Sheppard tried again.

"I said that I'd like to see Rodney."

Tibs frowned, pursed his lips, and Sheppard caught a brief flash of anger before Tibs seemed to compose himself. For whatever reason he was trying to exercise some self control, or, Sheppard suspected, he didn't want to reveal McKay's current location.

He decided there was nothing for it but to risk getting sedated again and besides, he couldn't stand to lie in the bed another second. He threw back the covers, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and prayed he didn't have a repeat of the previous night's pathetic attempts at walking.

Pushing himself upright he was pleased that his body didn't have any other ideas about standing. He remained vertical and on that encouraging note, he decided to risk a few steps. Naturally Tibs expressed is concern.

"Seer, this is not the time to be out of bed. You are still not well." Tibs briefly shifted his focus to the bed, and then back to Sheppard. "Then again, perhaps a change of sheets is in order."

Sheppard ignored the remark. "I'm fine. And I'm going to find Rodney."

Tibs eyes narrowed, and again Sheppard got a glimpse of a person with a personality that appeared unsuited to being in the position that required the ability to empathize and care for another.

The monk that was sewing the clothing was trying this best to ignore the scene unfolding in the room and pretended to be in deep concentration over stitching button holes.

Sheppard took some more steps towards the door, gaining his confidence as he went. He would have preferred the option of striding out in more suitable clothing but he if had to run around the Abbey in a nightshirt that had escaped from a Charles Dickens novel, and had an obvious urine stain then so be it. Dignity could take a backseat to finding McKay and trying to escape.

He grasped the door handle, found that this morning he had not problems turning it, and with a sigh of relief he moved out into the corridor. Tibs pursued him and then laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Sheppard's automatic reaction was to jerk himself away before he'd had a chance to stop himself. It wasn't a good reaction, because it revealed a weakness and Tibs seemed like a man who used a weakness to his advantage.

"Seer, I will take you to him but could you please dress warmly. Machine will not be happy if you catch an illness from walking around barely dressed."

Sheppard regarded Tibs suspiciously. He knew when he was being temporarily distracted from his task. But sometimes it was better to allow the enemy to think they had the upper hand. Besides, an opportunity to get into some decent clothing helped with the whole escape angle. Not to mention that it would quickly dispense with the evidence of his embarrassing loss of control.

He nodded, allowed Tibs to lead him back into the room and start laying out a far warmer array of clothing. As he watched a pair of woolen pants appearing from a cupboard he tried to hide his increasing worry over the safety of Rodney McKay.

((--))

Rodney wasn't sure which part of his punishment was worse. The humiliation or the pain. The pain itself was more of a dull ache but still… It hurt. Then again, the humiliation just added a whole extra layer of unhappiness to the throbbing in his jaw and tongue.

He'd been afraid that the monks would wind up revealing a bent for medieval torture devices. He'd been right and wrong. No rack, whippings, iron maidens or burnings. Instead, his head had been locked into a metal cage, a metal plate with small blunted spikes positioned so that it lay flat across his tongue, keeping it well and truly still. As long as he didn't try to move his mouth, the spikes didn't stick him too badly. On Earth it had been called a Scold's Bridle. He just happened to know this fact because his brain liked to store mounds of useless information and he'd gone through a phase as ten-year old of studying medieval England. Torture devices included.

Apart from the fact that he was standing in the courtyard with a metal cage locked on his head, he'd found that the Scold's Bridle had the side effect of making him drool uncontrollably.

Presumably that was just a perk on the humiliation front, in addition to the monks pointing and laughing at him.

He held up his wrist in front of the cage and looked at this watch. He'd been locked in the cage for all of twenty minutes and he could feel himself becoming claustrophobic as a result of the bars being so close to his head. Ironically the Scold's Bridle stopped him doing all the things he would normally do to remain calm: yelling for help or talking to himself. Consequently his already sky high anxiety level was making a break for orbit.

Just as he was about to lose it and try and see if he could pound the cage off by running his head into a courtyard wall, Darius hurried over to him bearing a large key. The one to the lock on the cage.

Rodney intercepted him half way and didn't even try to keep the pleading look out of his eyes. Darius didn't hesitate, and within a short space of time, Rodney's head was freed and so was his tongue.

With that, McKay spat onto the ground, ignored the tiny amount of blood that appeared when he spat, wiped off his mouth with the sleeve of his robe and said, "What the hell are you people playing at?!"

"I see the Brank didn't teach you the folly of talking for the sake of talking."

"No, it freaking didn't you… you… _freak_," sputtered McKay and then winced at the pain in his mouth and the fact that he was so incensed he couldn't even come up with a decent insult.

Darius shrugged at McKay's defiance. "No matter. Tibs has requested that you come with me."

"Oh, that's very generous of him. I'm thrilled." He grimaced. His tongue was never going to be the same again. Beckett was going to have a field day with this one.

Darius turned and walked off and McKay realized he had no choice but to follow.

((--))

Sheppard had tolerated the delaying tactics from Tibs but enough was enough. Tibs was fussing with the length of a sleeve, making the monk acting a tailor put in a slip stitch to ensure the sleeve didn't fall past the wrist. Sheppard had forced himself to remain still, even though his skin was crawling with the proximity of both Tibs and the tailor.

"Okay everyone, I'm not a manikin. I want to see Rodney McKay. _Now_."

The tailor hastily tied off the thread and cut it cleanly off, then stepped back, head bowed. Tibs seemed to be waiting for something.

Darius entered the room. "Brother Tibs…"

Tibs cut him off, plastering a smile all over his face in an attempt to look like he'd just got the best news in the world. "Thank you Brother Darius. Come long, Seer. You can see Novice McKay now."

Sheppard didn't need to be told twice and followed Darius and Tibs. The anonymous monk with the neat and orderly hand stitching bowed again and slunk away.

((--))

The HUD could be the least helpful device in the universe when there were multiple signatures around. Sheppard was supposed to have a sub dermal locator on him, but damned if they could get a lock. All the HUD was showing was a collection of people running around the Abbey and a lone monk standing in the middle of the courtyard with some weird cage over his head. There wasn't a lot of detail and for the most part, the monks all looked exactly the same on the HUD. Like figures out of Sim City.

"Poor bastard," remarked Lorne as he pulled the jumper back into a course towards the stargate. "I wonder what he did to deserve that?"

Ronon shrugged. There was no telling what went through the minds of groups. The man could have committed murder or simply forgotten to say thank-you at dinner. Whatever he did, he had obviously displeased the people in charge.

Teyla was frowning. Something bothering her. "We need to go back."

"Why?" Lorne turned in the pilot's chair, confused by Teyla's request.

"I believe the monk in the courtyard was Dr. McKay."

"You're kidding."

"I never kid about these things," said Teyla.

Lorne abruptly changed course, sending the jumper back down at a sharp angle through the clouds and back over the Abbey. Ronon didn't bother sitting down, just stood and braced himself on a bulk head, ready for action. Whatever that would be.

The jumper plowed to a screaming stop just above the Abbey's courtyard. The lone monk was gone and the courtyard was temporarily deserted.

"Damn it," muttered Lorne.

Ronon put his hand to his holster. He didn't like waiting, hated it more than anything because it never seemed to solve a problem. You took action and then that action lead to an outcome, whether good or bad.

"Let me go down there. I'll go and find McKay and pull him out. He can't have gone far."

Lorne seemed to be considering it but then shook his head. "Sorry. Sheppard would have my head if I let you down there without adequate backup."

"I'll take Teyla."

"Two people do not count as adequate backup against an entire abbey of monks."

"We don't know if they're armed."

Lorne could only shake his head again. "Look, Ronon, if those monks weren't armed don't you think Sheppard would have been out of there by now? I can't let you do this."

Ronon pushed himself away from the cockpit with a snarl and sat down heavily in a seat in the back compartment. Lorne turned the jumper around and set course back to the stargate.

Teyla tried to give him a comforting smile but he would have none of it.

"We will get them back, Ronon. I am sure of it."

Ronon crossed his arms against his chest, tried to ignore the emotions he felt whenever he was confronted with the possibility of yet another person he knew being hurt, or killed.

"They'd better be in one piece," he replied.

((--))

Sheppard was led to a large dining room directly connected to the kitchen. From the bedlam in the kitchen, they were preparing themselves to serve breakfast and a constant stream of monks wearing aprons appeared from the small doorway to set food onto the still empty tables.

McKay was sitting meekly down one end of the table, a bowl of food in front of him. It looked like oatmeal. He was trying to eat and winced every time he took a bite.

Sheppard was so happy to see McKay intact that he practically bounded up to him before he stopped himself. Not cool.

"Hey, McKay."

McKay smiled at him and patted a seat next to him.

"What? You're not speaking to me now? I'm hurt." Sheppard grabbed an empty bowl, found himself instantly deluged by two apron festooned monks and Tibs. He waved them off. "Guys, I can get my own food. See. Still have two hands."

He leaned across the table and snagged a slice of bread. McKay still hadn't spoken to him.

"Okay, what's up? Are you hurt?"

McKay opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by Tibs, bowing and shuffling his way towards Sheppard as if he was genuinely embarrassed about the entire situation.

"Seer, McKay has been learning a lesson in the importance of thinking before speaking."

Sheppard panicked as he flashed back to the threat Tibs had made to him. He whirled on Tibs and rasped out, "If you've hurt him in anyway, I'm going to kill you, you sick son-of-a-bitch."

Tibs backed away, holding his hands up. Every other monk stopped dead in his tracks. Except for Darius. Darius seemed to be reaching for an item hidden in his sleeve.

Sheppard's advance towards Tibs was stopped by McKay who grabbed him by the forearm and hauled him back.

"Sheppard, as much as I enjoy watching you get indignant on my behalf – mainly because it's unheard of - I'm okay. Just. And that's as much as I'm saying for another ten minutes." McKay screwed up his face, grabbed a mug of water, took a gulp of water but didn't swallow. Instead he seemed to be just swirling it around in his mouth.

Sheppard looked back at Tibs, ready to cancel all bets and just start hitting people. "The Seer would like some explanations. Right damn now."

Tibs looked around at the other monks and hung his head in shame. Or fake shame. Sheppard was discovering Tibs was good at putting on a show for the other monks when he wanted.

"I was concerned, Seer. He was rude to you and I felt that he needed to be an example for the other monks. He wore the Brank for a few minutes. Nothing more."

Sheppard didn't reply to Tibs but turned back to McKay who had swallowed the water and was eating another spoonful of oatmeal. "Rodney?"

"Got my head stuck in a cage and my tongue stuck with spikes. Tiny spikes."

Sheppard huffed out a breath. He was definitely going to start punching people. "Everyone listen up. The Seer is not happy. In fact the Seer is very, very _unhappy_. If anyone touches McKay again, then I'm going to have to do something about it."

What, he had no idea. But the threat seemed to be effective. Some of the older monks seemed to be genuinely frightened by his declaration.

He was just about to push his luck as the Seer and order up some weapons when a deep resonating sound like a gong began echoing throughout the Abbey.

Tibs gave Sheppard a predatory smile.

"Machine calls you."

((--))

The Benevolent Father's one wish was that he could join with Machine but of course, that was not to be. He did not have the required qualities that Machine could sense in people and she had refused him entry. She regretted this and she told him so, but he simply could not be admitted. She did however admire him and even liked him.

They shared many conversations over the years as she waited for her next Seer. As the years past he expressed his concern for her as her power levels diminished. Consequently he was thrilled to learn of Sheppard's presence on the planet. The device in the town square only activated when a person with the qualities of a Seer passed by.

But that thrill was tinged by no small amount of jealousy. On the one hand his task was to ensure that the Seer and Machine could function together to solve the problem but in his devotion to Machine he would always wished that it was _him_ with her. He understood her, he adored her, and he would treat the opportunity with the suitable gravitas that it deserved.

Unlike Sheppard.

"When will the Seer be here?" Machine's voice echoed through the chamber. She was stronger now that she had fed, but not strong enough.

"I have summoned him as you requested. He will be here soon."

"I need him," she half wailed.

"I know. Do not worry. He will be here. Tibs will make sure."

"Brother Tibs is a loyal servant of Machine. Tibs would do anything for Machine."

"Yes. Tibs is very loyal."

The door swung open, interrupting their conversation. The man in question had arrived. Tibs, and Darius, along with Sheppard and McKay. Sheppard was walking in front of them, doing his best to appear stoic about the situation.

McKay was walking behind Sheppard and between Darius and Tibs. McKay looked frightened and upset, but said nothing, and Benevolent Father could only guess that Tibs and Darius had used more drastic measures to ensure the Seer's cooperation. A shame, since it would have been easier if McKay and Sheppard adapted to their new roles without a fuss.

Still, if force was required, then they would use force.

The group came to a halt in the middle of the chamber. Machine's color changed when she sensed the Seer, a warm glow beginning to appear and spread over her outer skin.

Sheppard regarded Machine with distaste and his expression did not go unnoticed by Benevolent Father. Who was disgusted.

"You should have more respect for Machine. She is devoted to you, you should return the favor."

"Just because someone stalks you, doesn't mean it's love," replied Sheppard in a drawl meant to cover up what could only be fear.

"It is time, Seer." Machine's voice echoed and it was filled with a longing so great, every person in the room could feel her yearning.

((--))

Sheppard didn't want to go back into Machine. Only a nut bar would be jumping up and down with joy at the prospect of getting their head drilled open by some organic Ancient technology.

But there was the small matter of McKay's safety and his own pathological sense of duty and devotion. In the end he did not matter. He was a soldier and the soldier's duty was to fight and it was to protect. And he would protect his team members even if it meant he had to sacrifice himself to do it.

Kate Heightmeyer had argued with him that his ability to throw himself into the path of danger to protect everyone around him was either the most well developed case of altruism that she'd ever seen, or he just didn't care enough to want to keep living. Or as she said: "Saving your friends by putting yourself in harm's way once or twice is an act of heroism. Doing it on mission after mission is foolhardy." She'd said it during a mandatory debriefing after a nasty off-world mission that had landed him in the infirmary for a week. As far as Sheppard was concerned, Kate just didn't get it. And he told her. Problem was, they kept having the same argument and it was a frequent argument.

But he was in the same situation again and what was he going to do? People kept forgetting that he didn't have a choice. He could refuse and they'd probably find increasingly sadistic ways to hurt McKay until one of them gave up. Sheppard was under no illusion that although the Seer wouldn't be harmed, there was only limited protection for McKay.

He glanced down at the knife Darius held to McKay's side, ready to cut him like a fish should Sheppard put up too much of a fight. Not enough to kill him, but more than enough to hurt him badly.

So, he was trapped like a bug on fly paper. He tried to give McKay an encouraging smile but it came out more like a scowl.

"I'll figure a way out of this," he said. He wasn't sure if he was trying to cheer up McKay or himself.

McKay tried for his own smile of encouragement. "Sure you will. I'm sure that Mensa certified brain of yours will cook something up fairly shortly." McKay paused, worked his tongue around in his mouth and then looked down at Sheppard's feet clad in a pair of leather shoes. "Considering what happened last time, you might want to take them off."

Sheppard followed McKay's line of sight, and realized he only had a vague recollection of events immediately following his release from Machine.

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. You got out and the first thing you did was bitch about your feet being cold and your boots being full of gunk."

Okay. He shrugged. Didn't entirely make any sense to him but Rodney wasn't known for his stupid ideas. Stupid execution maybe, and maybe he could learn a few things about impulse control, but the ideas themselves were sound. Well, strike that. Sound for the most part except when he got some part of the calculation wrong.

He bent down, undid the laces, kicked them off, and figured he'd keep on the socks. McKay appraised the feet.

"Lose the jacket too and maybe the pants. They're just going to end up getting soaked."

"McKay, I am _not_ losing the pants."

"You've got underwear on, haven't you?"

"I'm not answering that question."

"Oh, okay then. Spend all day stuck in wet pants and see if I care."

Sheppard couldn't help it but he actually chuckled at McKay's reply. He put it down to nervous tension. Then again, from McKay's smile, even he could see the funny side.

Of course, the brief respite in the proceedings was only that. Brief. And more of an indulgence from the Benevolent Father. The man was standing behind him, waiting restlessly for Sheppard to go to Machine and begin round two.

Sheppard felt a tap on his shoulder, and knew that he couldn't put it off forever. He reluctantly turned and walked towards Machine.

She glowed brilliantly and the side of her tore open. He could see inside her, and the sea of yellow fluid, and he wanted to vomit but he forced himself to keep going, even though his feet felt like they weighed a ton.

He hesitated at the entrance. Felt the Benevolent Father's hand in the middle of his back, pushing at him.

Benevolent Father's voice whispered into his ear, "I do not understand why such a great privilege is given to someone who is so unworthy."

"Believe me, I'm more than happy to swap places with you," he shot back, hoping for some sort of reprieve even if it was for five minutes of sarcasm on the threshold of a new round of torture.

The hand was more insistent and he spared one last glance at McKay and stepped through.

The tear in Machine healed instantly. He gagged at the smell, now stronger, and as the fluid seeped into his pants, he was reminded as to why clothing was a dumb idea with communing with Machine.

"I missed you, Seer. Welcome back."

Sheppard didn't move, just kept himself pressed back against the fleshy interior and as with his first encounter, vaguely hoped for some way to open her back up and escape.

"Lie down, Seer. We have much work to do."

"Did I ever tell you that essentially I'm a really lazy person?"

A strange noise that sounded like a kitten being strangled bounced around her interior. Sheppard could only conclude that Machine had attempted to laugh.

"You have made another joke. You do amuse me, Seer. The monks do not make jokes."

"They probably haven't been watching vintage episode of _The Young Ones_."

"_The Young Ones_?"

"It's a comedy. By the BBC. I only know about it because one of the scientists from the UK has it on DVD. Carson's a fan too."

Machine was silent for a moment. "You are attempting to distract me."

"You're about to fry my brain. Do you blame me?"

"Lie down, Seer."

"Screw you, bitch."

Again with the little silence, as if she couldn't quite decide what to do with a Seer who was uncooperative. Of course, he knew that he'd ruined any chance of making this whole experience a more gentle venture with his last reply. She might not have understood the words but it wasn't hard to guess the meaning. She didn't answer him at all and he figured she'd decided that they'd had enough time for the preliminary chit-chat. Time to get down to business.

He was promptly flipped on his back and dragged into position under the energy ball. The move was sudden and violent and as he landed, he temporarily submerged into the rank fluid, emerging a few seconds later with the stuff up his nose and in his mouth. Yeah, the stuff smelt bad and tasted twice as bad.

He turned his head, spat but didn't make much progress as Machine's internal fluid was lapping at his cheeks. That just left swallowing whatever crappy stuff made her work or he'd choke. He swallowed and was left in no doubt that in about ten minutes it was going to come back to haunt him.

However, the fact that he'd swallowed the vilest tasting liquid known to man was about to be overridden by a repeat of the previous day's nasty joining experience. He stared up at the swirling energy above him, at the bolts of lightening churning around Machine and wondered if was too late to apologize for telling her to screw herself.

The light arced down, smacked him in the forehead, then pummeled the rest of his body. The only vague positive was that the pain wasn't making him scream. Cry out – yes. Groan – yes. Out and out screaming? No.

Didn't make it any better though.

Machine tried for her soothing tone. "Do not worry, Seer. The next time we do this I will have my settings correct and you should feel no pain at all. It's only for today and it will be over soon."

That did not make him feel any better. He couldn't exactly speak right now but she'd yet to paralyze his limbs, so he did manage to drag one hand up and present her with his middle finger. She may not have understood that at all, but it did give him a brief moment of satisfaction.

Then the sparkly lights trying to crawl their way through his eyeballs and into his brain got even brighter and he was twenty-three and shipping out to the first Gulf War.

**End of Chapter Five**.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes: **I've done a little bit of fiddling with Sheppard's military history. I've stuck him in the Army and figured he would have done an interservice transfer at some point. Simply because when he's on a mission he doesn't act like someone who's been flying helicopters his entire life. He acts like someone's who's seen action on the ground. At the age I have him transferring, he'd be a little old to start training as a pilot, but I'm taking some artistic license…

**Chapter Six**

McKay found himself standing in the Machine's chamber again, surrounded by people but feeling very much alone. He'd watched Sheppard reluctantly enter Machine herself and knew that Sheppard had only taken that action to ensure McKay's safety. McKay didn't like to be used as a bargaining chip and certainly didn't enjoy the sense of being turned into a liability. He was more than certain that if he wasn't around, Sheppard would have just snapped a couple of annoying necks and got himself out and if Teyla and Ronon had been here, they would have thought of something by now. It wasn't a good feeling and he just wished to God he could think of a way out of the situation before it got worse then it already was.

Considering what had happened with the first session with Machine, McKay found himself tensing and waiting for the screaming to start. Instead there was nothing but a few pitiful cries of pain before it went eerily silent.

He didn't like this. Didn't like it at all. There was nothing to do but register his protests but of course, that was more than likely to get him into trouble. But he'd do it anyway.

Off to one side, Benevolent Father was again fiddling with the console, intently watching the monitor as images began cycling in rapid succession. They were clearer this time and McKay was seeing more of Sheppard than he wanted to. He was a reluctant peeping tom in Sheppard's psyche and it was an uncomfortable position to be in. Although on the other hand, the curious part of him that wanted to know more about Sheppard's past found itself staring at the monitor in fascination. The part of him that respected Sheppard's privacy won out in the end.

"I don't know what the hell you want but you know, Sheppard's never going to break. He's tough. You might as well give up now." Even to McKay's ears it sounded about as intimidating as a threatening a child with no dessert if they didn't clean their room.

Tibs sighed a world weary sigh. Signaling that McKay was going to be a difficult subject for him. He spared a glance in McKay's direction but directed his reply to Benevolent Father.

"I am afraid, Father, that Novice McKay is not taking his duties as seriously as he should. Further more he constantly violates the rules of the Abbey by talking unnecessarily and complaining constantly."

Benevolent Father managed to break his attention from the images for a brief amount of time.

"Brother Tibs, I trust your judgment on these matters as always. I take it you have punished him?"

"The Brank. This morning."

Benevolent Father paused before replying, seemingly deep in thought. "Brother Tibs, you know you have my complete support. If you feel that Novice McKay is reluctant to learn, you may apply whatever corrective measures you feel appropriate."

There was nothing worse than being talked about, but not talked _to_. "Hey, hello, Novice Mckay is in the room. Standing right here. And he'd just like to get a few things straight. First of all, I'm not your Novice. I didn't sign up for this, and I don't remember getting my official Novice's badge at any point in the proceedings. Secondly, if you want us to cooperate in whatever it is that you want, you're best approach is to stop pissing myself and Sheppard off. Especially Sheppard. Thirdly, our friends are going to come looking for us and then you're going to be in big trouble and regret kidnapping. Oh boy, will you regret-"

"-See what I mean, Benevolent Father?" Tibs interjected.

"Didn't anyone tell you it was rude to interrupt people when they're speaking?" McKay could feel himself winding up to a nice case of outrage brought on a by a lack of etiquette.

Tibs gave a sorrowful shake of his head. "I should also mention his gluttony."

"I am _not_ a glutton!"

"Yesterday he consumed a large quantity of stew."

"I was hungry because you made me haul all those buckets of water!"

"Enough!" Benevolent Father cut both of them off. "Brother Tibs, you will see to Novice McKay's instruction. He is more than likely to be with us for some time and it would serve the Seer well that McKay was more concerned for his duties. You will ensure McKay learns."

McKay was about to say something else, but didn't get a chance. Machine had latched onto an incident in Sheppard's life and the monitor showed a vast desert, sand, and the shimmer of a heat mirage in the distance. The image showed the back of a soldier, desert cammies, helmet, and backpack. Carrying an M16. The soldier turned around, seemed to be looking straight at the monitor, but of course he wasn't. He was looking at Sheppard.

"I dunno 'bout you Shep but I am definitely getting fucked off by all this sand. When we gonna get some action?"

A disembodied voice replied. "I'd say never. This war is nearly over Bean, so I think we should just get used to traipsing around."

"Don't call me Bean."

"Okay, Bean."

There was the rumble of an approaching jet, echoing across the landscape, not even visible. Bean turned back to another man. The man was older, wearing stripes – the squad's sergeant.

"Hey, Sarg, Rumor mill says Shep's some secret fucking genius or something. Qualified to do flight training. Gonna be a fucking zoomie."

Sheppard didn't bother replying. The sergeant glanced back at Sheppard with a look that said he had wondered how Sheppard had pulled it off himself and had come to the conclusion that well-placed connections had engineered the entire thing. However, he put the squad straight. "The man has apparently demonstrated that he has the right to move to a higher plane of existence. No pun intended. Now shut the fuck up and keep moving."

Bean didn't take any notice. "No fucking way! Jesus, doesn't the military have any fucking standards these days?"

"Are you besmirching this man's army, Private?" The sergeant had dropped his pace to fall beside Bean.

"No, sir!"

"Glad to hear it, now pick up the pace before I help you pick it up by kicking your ass."

There was no answer and McKay figured that Sheppard was maintaining his silence so that Bean would stop talking.

Speaking of talking… He felt someone grab his robe. It was Tibs.

"There are many duties to perform before Machine releases Seer. You will do them _quietly_. I will help you to do them quietly."

McKay crossed his arms. "You're going to supervise me, is that it? You know, you remind me of one of my college professors and he discovered that Rodney McKay doesn't take well to behavior modification of any sort."

Tibs just shook his head again, a gesture that McKay found more annoying with every incident. Like Tibs was doing him some kind of favor by pitying him.

Tibs took him by the arm, began leading him out of the chamber. Tibs was smiling again and McKay felt his chest tighten, the room temperature drop. He shouldn't have said anything but he just couldn't stop himself. He'd opened his big, fat mouth and now he was going to pay because when Tibs smiled it was the smile of a sadist who'd just been given his next victim. And maybe, just maybe thought McKay – that's exactly what he was.

((--))

The Kuwait desert was hot and it was one big endlessly flat searing vista that the squad marched around in. They marched in the sand, they slept in the sand, they ate in the sand, they drank copious amounts of water and pissed in the sand.

It was the first Gulf War and for most of the troops it was as boring as the sand they wandered around in. The action was few and far between and training they'd been itching to finally use was going to waste.

Listening to Bean rave on about anything and everything was just as bad because Bean got nearly every fact he ever quoted wrong. Bean had so far espoused that Queen Elizabeth II had lived in a castle during the Battle of Hastings and spent her leisure time chopping off the heads of her lovers. He also thought all actors and actresses were gay, the moon landing was fake, beef jerky was actually horse meat, and Twinkies were a military experiment in creating food that would never decay (thus feeding the masses after a nuclear war).

Depending on Sheppard's disposition at the time, Bean was either a free gift of comedy or a giant pain the butt.

Right now, he was a giant pain in the butt.

"I'm telling you Shep, that's what I heard. You become a pilot your life expectancy is halved."

Sheppard just did his well practiced nod of agreement and drawled, "Yeah, sounds about right." He'd learnt that if he agreed with Bean, Bean would get rapidly sick of a subject and move on.

Bean was going to say something else when he paused and looked up at the sky. The sound of the jet was deafeningly loud and then it was fading off. They were over them, or due to the Doppler Effect, they were about twenty clicks in front of them.

"Do they sound like they're coming back?" Bean sounded worried. Friendly fire incidents had been causing more casualties than the Iraqis themselves.

"Just keep moving, Private. Let the Air Force and all those smart boys and girls in their nice shiny toys go do their thing," said the Sergeant.

"I swear they're coming back. Listen." Bean was pointing over in a direction towards them and he appeared to be right. The sound was coming back towards them.

After about a second it was clear to everyone on the squad that they had aircraft heading their way. Then they saw them. Low to the ground. A-10 Thunderbolts. Designed to support ground troops by taking out all the enemy ground troops in their path.

"Somebody get me a radio, and the rest of you try to look like you came from the US of A!" The Sergeant was already reaching for the radio and everyone else kept marching. Sheppard heard the Sergeant screaming down the line. "Do they know we're in this area?" There was a pause as the sergeant listened for a reply. "_What_? Where exactly is the area?! Jesus H. Christ."

The A-10s came down low, and started strafing. Bean was hit and dropped instantly. Everyone else scattered and unbelievably the A-10s circled and came back for another run.

"Tell them to break off their God damn attack!"

Sheppard made his way over to Bean, half listening to the Sergeant screaming down the end of the radio. He had a vague hope that Bean would still be alive, or at least able to rasp out his last words into Shep's ear. It was a romantic notion borne of watching too many action movies where a character got that one last great close-up of them dying slowly.

But of course, in reality, these things were not to be. Bean was dead, his blood pouring into the sand. Bean's eyes were open. He looked surprised.

The strafing run started again. Sheppard tore himself away from Bean's dead gaze and made a break to run to the left or right, rather than straight ahead. Anything that took him out of the way of the aircraft. In his world, the one where he didn't die, he zig zagged his way out of the path of the next firing line with sheer dumb luck. So did most of his squad.

In the multiverse reality, he zigged, but didn't get to zag. The ammunition from an A-10 got him in the back, went through his torso like his body was made of tissue paper. As he went face down, bleeding his life into the sand of a foreign country, his last thought was that it was a damn shame he'd been killed by the same fuckers he wished he could fly with.

((--))

Elizabeth Weir decided it was time to come up with a plan. A plan that would work, with any luck. Lorne, Ronon and Teyla had filled her in on the fortified nature of the Abbey. Beckett had joined them for an update. He'd been disturbed by Teyla's description of her possible sighting of McKay.

The problem was that the chances of getting a team in through the front door were remote, but there was the possibility of winching a team straight down into the courtyard. The extraction would be complicated if Sheppard and McKay were injured but with a team of marines, it was possible. Although the monks remained an unknown factor. If they were armed, did she really want to risk an entire team?

Ultimately it was her decision but the team, especially Ronon, was making a strong case for the extraction.

"Look, we go in at night, catch them off guard. We should be able to locate Sheppard and McKay before they can sound the alarm."

Lorne concurred. "It's a good plan."

"How exactly were you planning to find them when we have no idea where they're being held?"

Ronon paused before answering. "We start looking and we don't stop, no matter what happens."

"Um, if I could interrupt here, for a moment."

All eyes turned to Beckett. He seemed slightly taken aback, as if he wasn't expecting anyone to take any notice.

"I know I'm not experienced in tactical decisions but I don't see why we don't just walk through the front door."

"Because it's locked," shot back Ronon.

"Give Carson a chance to speak," said Elizabeth.

"Look, they don't know us and if the Abbey works like any other religious order, then it works by people deciding they want belong. Why don't we send two people in and tell them we want to join? It would be like going undercover."

Elizabeth noted with a certain amount of amusement that Lorne and Ronon looked like they were mentally kicking themselves for not thinking of the idea themselves. Teyla smiled at Beckett.

"That is a very good plan Dr. Beckett."

"I'm even going to go one further and volunteer myself," said Beckett.

That was something of a revelation for Elizabeth. Beckett's reluctance for going off-world was well known to the entire Atlantis expedition. He'd explained that he hated the process of going through the stargate itself. It wasn't natural for a person to be de-atomized and sped through space before being reassembled. What happened if they wound up be reassembled the wrong way?

McKay found this argument hilarious and constantly teased Beckett that he wasn't going through a transporter beam in _Star Trek._

"You're sure, Carson?" She gave him a moment to un-volunteer himself.

"Of course I'm bloody sure. I wouldn't have said so if I wasn't. Someone needs to be there on the ground to assess them and give them immediate medical treatment. I'd prefer myself to be the one doing the assessing."

She nodded to them all. "Okay, I'm going to authorize this one. Put it together, make sure you blend in. Carson, I'm going to team you up with Ronon."

She saw Ronon smile and she knew she was taking a chance putting Ronon in charge. He was prone to impulsiveness; something he could control with a team leader he respected, but she wasn't entirely sure how he would act in a lead situation himself. Then again, he was the most likely one to be able to get himself and Carson out of a tight spot.

"Ronon, I expect you to exercise discretion. The moment you sense any problems, I want you to call for back up. Okay?"

Ronon didn't immediately answer.

"Ronon, I'm giving you an order."

He sighed, nodded her way. "Okay. It's an order." And with that over he turned to Lorne. "Let's go figure out some strategy."

Then they were both gone, Carson in tow, perhaps already wondering if he couldn't undo his display of heroism.

That just left her and Teyla. From Teyla's expression, she could tell exactly what Teyla was thinking.

"Sorry, Teyla. Sounds like this is the one mission I can't send you on."

"I completely understand Dr. Weir. The Abbey is… I believe the expression I have heard is, 'Boys only club'".

"There's only so much we could do to disguise you."

"I am sure Carson and Ronon will bring Sheppard and McKay home."

"But unlike you, they'll probably blow something up in the process."

Teyla laughed softly at the reply and then turned and went to join the others. At least she could help in the planning stages.

((--))

McKay had been towed back to the Seer's room and forced to go back to his usual routines. Wearing a gag. Tibs was confirming McKay's growing suspicion that Tibs wasn't happy unless he was in complete control and he was even happier when he was allowed to get that control anyway he could. It made sense that he would be so eager to retain his role as the Seer's main caretaker. Total control over another human being and he was as close to the main powerbroker in the Abbey as he could be. Anyone who controlled the Seer controlled, controlled… What? McKay knew he was witnessing some sort of power play but over what he was undecided. Just that having direct access to Sheppard put both Tibs and Benevolent Father in line for something. Something big.

He worked his jaw slightly to try and get some feeling back. It wasn't directly uncomfortable and just seemed to be a reminder for him to shut up unless he had something worthwhile to say. It also provided the other monks with another opportunity for laughter as his expense. Tibs was clearly big on the humiliation angle and McKay just hoped the man's lust for power and control didn't extend to anything that sociopaths found amusing. Like rape and murder.

Shit, he had no idea what the hell he was getting into. The only thing he could do was try and bide his time and get them both out of here, although no bright ideas had come to him of late. He presumed he could also try not pissing off Tibs any more than he already had, but that was easier said than done.

He supposed he could go back to his original approach and play the game, try sucking up to Tibs and maybe Darius. But he wasn't very good at that either. Asking him to play out a ruse involving social skills was like asking a chimpanzee to write a paper on quantum mechanics. His chances of succeeding were going to be close to zero, but he was going to have to at least make an effort.

He was going to have to gain Tibs' trust and this time, make a serious effort at it.

((--))

Sheppard was hallucinating that he was in a swimming pool. He was floating on his back, the sun shinning down so brightly he had to close his eyes. He couldn't figure out why he hadn't remembered to bring sunglasses. Sunglasses were definitely called for on such a bright summer's day.

He also couldn't figure out what he was floating around in a swimming pool in BDUs but he didn't let that bother him. For the moment he was just going to enjoy the peace and the fact that his head didn't hurt so much.

"Hey, buddy, you got any beer in your fridge?"

He opened his eyes, squinted against the light, and tried to raise a non responsive hand to shield his face to see who had spoken to him. He recognized the voice, or at least he should have. He turned to the left, made out the shape of a man standing on the pool's edge.

"Hey, Mitch. I forgot to get any. Sorry. The store was out."

He heard a sigh of annoyance. "Shep, my man, you are letting the team down. Forgetting to buy beer… That's wrong. Just plain wrong."

Sheppard allowed himself to smile. "Yeah, I know." He floated around some more, pushed around by a current that shouldn't have been in a swimming pool. "Hey, Mitch?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"What's it like to be dead?"

The figure at the edge of the pool snorted. "Well, it kind of sucks to be honest."

"Sucks?"

"Yeah. The eternal torment is really depressing."

Sheppard tried to make out the face of the person on the side of the pool, but it was hard even though the current pushed him closer. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't understand. You never do, even though you put me here."

"What are you talking about?"

"Wake up and face reality Shep. You keep wondering why this shit happens? It's because of _you_. You're a curse. You're bad luck. You ruin everything and everybody around you. You reach out your hand for comfort, you reach out your hand for friendship and they whither before you like plants ripped from the ground. It's _you_, Sheppard. Not one person is safe around you. You are the Omega."

Sheppard tried pushing away as he bumped into the side of the pool. "Shut up! Just shut up. I never meant for anyone to get killed, not Bean, not you, not Dex, not Holland. I never meant to release the Wraith, I never meant to kill Sumner, I never meant to have that fight with Mom, I never meant for Dad to have to go through-"

"-That's the problem isn't it Shep? You never meant for any of it, but it still happened and deep down you've got a little voice in you that says it might all be better if you go away. Because what's gonna happen to your current little group of friends huh? They've lasted longer than anyone but sooner or later it's all going bad, and it's the same old, same old. You're left standing alone in a sea of bodies."

"_Shut the fuck up_!"

"Now, now, buddy. The truth hurts."

For some reason, he could now make out the figure more clearly. It was speaking with Mitch's voice but it wasn't Mitch. It was a body about a week or more old. Bloated, and what was left of the face turning black, the skin starting to fall off, leaking fluids everywhere.

He started screaming because he wanted this to stop but he couldn't move and he just kept bumping gently into the sides of the pool, as the walking, talking nightmare that was Not Mitch stared down at him and laughed.

((--))

McKay kept up the mindless tasks set before him. He filled the cast iron pot with water. He trudged dutifully between the well and the pot, and tried to concentrate on just being in the moment. Or at least, that's what he'd read in a meditation book somewhere when he'd been trying to figure out how to actually meditate. He was no good at it. Ironically meditation took focus, but it was a singular focus and his brain didn't do singular focus on anything except a new theory and even then he always had another idea queued up and ready to go.

He kept telling himself that he was going to have to do this to gain trust. Even if it drove him crazy.

When he had finished carting the water into the pot, he immediately made himself set to the other tasks, such as getting new clothes ready and laid out on the bed. A new nightshirt. He sort of knew where everything was, and if he didn't it wasn't hard to find. He tried not to look at his watch. He was not, not, _not_ going to measure these boring tasks by the slow and painful passing of time.

Yes, he was going to be in the moment. He decided that when he finished those tasks he'd voluntarily start on another one and that would make him look good. There was a broom that he'd spied in the courtyard, so he went and grabbed it, set himself the task of sweeping the wooden floor in the Seer's room, even though the stirred up dust would play havoc with his allergies.

He started at the corners, working the dust bunnies around towards the doorway that led to the courtyard and then swept them outside. There was a cloud of dust that made him cough.

With the tasks set before him, he tried his very best to concentrate on sweeping and nothing else, not even trying to figure out what he'd learned from the book in his room. He hoped he had the patience to stick with his plan. He wasn't any good with the whole patience thing either.

His stomach growled. It must be long past the stated lunch break for the monks but he was not going to look at his watch. Sweeping. Just sweeping. Then if he had to, he could think of something else.

As he was pushing the last of the dust outside, he spied Tibs sauntering towards him. He tried to appear calm and unconcerned, rather than angry or desperate to get the gag off. Besides, he had no desire to go through a repeat of a morning with his head stuck in the Scold's Bridle.

Tibs came towards him, appeared to be assessing him. "I hear from Darius that your attitude has changed much over the day."

McKay couldn't say anything anyway, so he just nodded.

"I imagine you are hungry."

McKay wasn't sure if he was being baited on that point but he definitely knew he was starving and he was feeling faint, so he nodded again.

"In that case, I shall send you to the kitchen for some food. After you have eaten you must return here and I will decide if there are any other duties you should perform."

He felt like somebody's dog because he nodded again, and when Tibs smiled at him and finally took the damn gag off, he just took a deep breath and said, "Thank you." Then he actually forced himself to wait for Tibs to tell him that he was dismissed.

As he traipsed towards the kitchen, across the courtyard, he kept chanting to himself that for both he and Sheppard's sake he was not going to give into hunger and consume a loaf of bread.

He heard Tib's voice from behind him. "Of course, that does not mean I will not ensure that you remain silent this afternoon. Just to convince myself that you are being obedient because you know your place."

That was when Tibs started beating him.

((--))

"Seer! You must wake up! Seer…."

His mother was shouting at someone called the Seer. He wanted her to be quiet because his headache was back and he didn't feel like going to school today. He didn't know who the Seer was anyway and whoever he was, it seemed from the tone of her voice that he was in trouble.

"Leave me alone. It's not time to get up…"

"Seer! Please pay attention."

It took his brain a few seconds to process the characteristics of the voice and decide that maybe it wasn't his mother. As far as his brain was concerned he was still in that stupid swimming pool, bobbing around like a piece of driftwood.

"_Seer_."

The pain in his head intensified. He let out a gasp and jerked awake, found he was still floating. But not in a pool. He was still floating around in Machine.

He didn't resist in letting her know his displeasure in being forced back to reality. "What the hell do you want?"

"Seer, I could not reach you." She sounded worried.

"I'm right here," he said in a surly tone of voice.

"That is not what I meant. I was trying to run the next scenario but I could not reach you."

"You mean you couldn't manipulate me."

"This should not be happening. At least, not yet."

Well, he had to ask, didn't he? With a response like that, clearly there was worse yet to come and he might as get an idea of the lay of the land. Get a taste of the horrors waiting for him. Even though he was tired, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"Eventually the joining can start to break down. It becomes harder for me to be with you."

"You mean it gets harder to make people remember things they don't want to."

"It is important that I know all points of intersection, all possible outcomes."

"Yeah, yeah, heard it all before."

"I will try to be more gentle, then perhaps you will not hide."

"Did anyone tell you that you're a complete bitch?" He said it with as much force as he could, because the one thing he was getting out of this enforced relationship was a deep hate of her. Deep enough to want to kill her if he could.

"I am sorry, Seer but I am also running low on energy. I had to wait so long for a replacement that my stores have been driven below even my minimal standards."

He didn't know why she kept apologizing to him. The one thing he didn't have in this relationship was a choice and she was going to use him in whatever way she wanted. He felt a vague tickle at his back and another on his arm. The familiar sensation of flesh being kneaded, knew that she was once more having a taste of his blood.

Maybe, while she was distracted, he could figure out a way to block her again. He obviously done it subconsciously before, without understanding the technique, but if he could do it at will, that would be a whole lot better than being flipped end-over-end through all the crappy portions of his life.

He was trying really, really hard to think of a nice peaceful field on a summer's day, maybe somewhere like Montana or Wyoming, up near a mountain range when there was a flash and he was back in Afghanistan.

Mitch, the real Mitch, was regarding him with bemusement. He said, "You want me to swap shifts with you? No way. I've got a day off tomorrow. I've got a call stateside booked home for my wife's birthday."

On the upside, when the medevac chopper got cut into teeny pieces by an RPG, this time around the death he experienced was instant, and he had the satisfaction of knowing that in this ending at least, Mitch and Dex were still alive.

That made Sheppard ecstatic and sad at the same time because really, if he'd just flown the day he was supposed to, things would have turned out so much happier for all involved. The Pegasus Galaxy wouldn't have hordes of hungry Wraith chowing its way across every solar system in their path for a start.

He gasped as he was released from the memory, blinked a few times. She'd dulled down the sensations he could experience again, but even so, he felt a vague sense that something in his body was not right. A feeling of nausea was rolling around in his stomach on top of the headache. Probably due to that little drink he'd taken when she'd smacked him onto his back.

It didn't take a genius to know that laying down, almost totally paralyzed when he vomited wasn't good. If he couldn't clear his mouth, he was going to wind up inhaling, and drowning in his own vomit was not on his Top Ten ways to die.

"Machine, you have to let me sit up."

"Why?"

"I feel sick," he said. Hoped she wouldn't argue with him because he could feel the nausea getting stronger.

"You should not feel sick," she smoothly replied. "I have ensured that these sensations are not a concern."

"For fuck's sake, don't argue with me! I'm gonna puke…"

As if on cue he felt his stomach heave and he desperately tried moving, to push himself upright. Machine must have figured out that he wasn't faking it and abruptly, he found he had some limited and uncoordinated ability to get himself into a sitting position.

He got his torso vertical as he started throwing up, then bent forward, essentially puking all over himself. Didn't really matter as he was pretty much swimming around in fluid that looked like vomit anyway. Still, he was an even bigger mess.

Machine fretted while he heaved up breakfast. "This is not right."

He couldn't reply, just had to wait for the event to be over, which it was in short order. He felt tears rolling down his face from the force of his bout of puking, his nose was blocked, and his mouth tasted of vomit. He tried spitting a few times, but it did nothing to clear his throat. What he really needed was a glass of water and a toothbrush.

"Does the Seer feel any better?"

"No, I don't feel better. I want out."

She paused a moment as if checking out a few readings or considering whether he was lying. "Your biological readings say that you are fine now."

"Define 'fine' in three words or less."

"That you are unlikely to need to vomit again. We can continue."

He tried pushing himself to his feet, hoping she'd forgotten to turn on her little paralyzing trick. He splashed around in the muck and only succeeded in getting himself to his knees and it still didn't solve the problem of how to escape, since it appeared that once she sealed him in, she was the only one who could decide to let him out.

The fact that he'd bothered to get onto his knees and try and stand was more down to a stubborn defiance than any actual acknowledgement of his current situation.

He didn't get very far. Machine restarted the whole process, and without further ado, he was on his back again. Luckily this time he had the foresight to close his eyes and hold his breath before going under.

The taste in his mouth was awful, his nose was still blocked, he had to breath through his mouth. The blue lights and the strange lightening effects were starting again, aiming for his head and drilling holes clear out the other side of his skull.

There was no way he could last the rest of the day, let alone do this day in and day out until he died. He wanted to be rescued. Someone, anyone, had to turn up and get him out of here.

_They'll come for him_. _They always did_.

An evil little voice, the one that occasionally reared its ugly head, sneered at him. "One day, they won't. One day they'll get sick of rescuing you."

"Shut up," he said to the voice and to Machine and to everything and everyone crowding around in his head.

Machine found what she was looking for and then he was wandering around in the bleak Afghanistan landscape, looking for Captain Lyle Holland, knowing even as he looked that he was well and truly screwed if he ever made it back to base.

((--))

Ronon and Beckett were dressed in a convincing facsimile of the town's people clothing based on Ronon's and Teyla's descriptions, whipped up by the services and support personnel. They'd managed to also come up with some bags that both men could sling around their shoulders and put a number of goodies into the bag, such as knives, food, and some gold. Then they'd constructed a number of hidden pockets for both of them, on the inside of their coats. The theory was that any guards or henchmen would hopefully be distracted by the loot in the bags, and overlook the lining of the coats.

The lining contained a scanner, another set of knives, a couple of radio headsets, packets of haemostatic agent, a flat tab pack of codeine, and an epi-pen. Worse came to the worse, at least Carson could stop any bleeding by dumping some clotting agent into a bad wound and that would hold them until he got them to the jumper. He could use the adrenaline in the epi-pen to get someone exhausted onto their feet as rapidly as possible. A dangerous solution but it would work if they were in a tight spot. Carson kept telling everyone that he'd have to deal with any other medical emergencies with whatever he had to hand. He didn't like it, but Ronon wasn't giving him any choice. Any bulkiness to the coats was going to raise suspicions.

Lorne had flown them through the stargate in a cloaked jumper, then flown to the outskirts of the town and made sure they landed in a deserted and wooded area. Carson and Ronon had disembarked and Lorne and his team of marines had gone off to wait for the call that Sheppard and McKay had been located.

Just getting to the Abbey gates had been a trial. They'd barely hit the town when they were a source of interest, a variety of jackals sniffing around to determine whether they were fair game. Carson was profoundly relieved that Ronon was with him.

The first set that tried to attack them were sent flying with some jaw cracking punches, and a knife to the back of the arm. As they sped off, Ronon muttered, "Amateurs."

After the attack, Ronon and Carson hurried to the gates of the Abbey and seemed to be free from further harassment. Carson figured that word may have spread about Ronon's abilities to protect themselves. Or, depressingly, they'd already been targeted by the highly placed warlords and everyone else had been told that they were off limits.

The guards at the Abbey gate seemed indifferent to their arrival. Beckett approached them, trying to appear as non threatening as possible.

"My friend and I have come to ask that we be admitted to the order." He hoped it had said the line with just the right touch of eagerness and humility.

One of the guards raised an eyebrow at them. "Oh, you do, do you?"

"Aye. I mean, uh, yes. Yes, we do."

It wasn't hard to know what was coming next, judging by the way the guard was eyeing up both Carson and Ronon's bag.

"I can get let you in for a small fee. What have you got that might interest me?"

Carson didn't hesitate to open his bag and pull out one of the spare knives and a small gold coin. He thanked God they had counted on the guards to be as greedy as the rest of the town's people. "Would this do?"

The guard weighed it up, then seized both items, stuffing them under his coat. "Welcome to the Abbey. Brother Darius will interview you and make sure you are suitable."

The guard didn't bother opening up the main gate but instead opened a small side door for them, ringing a bell at the same time. Both men had to stoop to get through and the door slammed shut as soon as had Ronon managed to squeeze through to the other side.

Ronon immediately began observing the Abbey grounds, trying to memorize the buildings, any potentially areas they would need to scout. Carson wasn't sure what to do next but before he could move, a monk was hurrying towards them.

He was young, clothes in the familiar brown robes and sandals that all the monks wore.

"Greeting novices! I am Brother Darius." He reached both men, and gave them a hearty handshake. "It had been so long since we've had anyone approach us about joining the Abbey. I am so pleased!" He shook their hands again, and at the same time reached for their bags. "Of course, even though you are probably genuine, you will not be offended if we search your bags and ensure you are not armed."

Ronon and Carson made a slight show of stopping them, of being upset at the removal of personal items, but it seemed, for now, the plan had worked.

Darius beckoned that they should follow him. "I should warn you that if you have been sent by Tyrus, Dren or any of the others to try and dispatch the Seer, your time in this Abbey shall be short."

"No, none of that," said Carson as forcefully as he could, trying to convey that it was the last thing on their minds. Whatever the Seer happened to be, that was definitely not on the agenda.

His reply seemed to satisfy Darius enough for him to keep walking them through an empty entranceway, and then into a long corridor. "I shall take you to the Benevolent Father later. He is currently occupied with the Seer. For now, you should wait in the kitchen."

More walking, and then Darius turned left and went through a door and they were out in the courtyard. It was right about then, as they were crossing the courtyard, they spotted a familiar face, dressed in robes, and sandals, trying to scrub out what appeared to be a large, wooden tub. The figure was concentrating on the scrubbing, red in the face and sweating.

Please, dear God, don't let him see us, thought Carson. This was not the time for the game to be given away by Rodney, who was more than likely to call out their names before he'd had a moment to stop and consider his actions.

He saw McKay stop, roll up the sleeves of his robe which had fallen down, and stand up to get another bucket of water. McKay couldn't help but notice them. They were as plain as the nose on his face.

To Carson's amazement, Rodney didn't say a thing. Instead, his eyes went wide in recognition and then after what seemed like an eternity, he forced himself to lower the bucket down into the well. Carson had only needed that moment to note that the area around Rodney's mouth appeared to be bruised, and that his bottom lip was swollen.

Now it was his turn to stop himself from running over to Rodney and making sure the scientist was okay. But of course he couldn't, not if this whole rescue plan was to work. He felt Ronon's arm on his own, stopping him from taking a step forward.

He tried to convey to McKay over the distance of the courtyard that they were here for the Rescue. The patented, always-a-winner Rescue with a capital 'R'. Because it had to be.

As Darius led them towards another entrance, Carson wondered what the hell this sadistic bunch of monks had been doing to McKay.

**End of Chapter Six**.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

When McKay saw Carson and Ronon standing in the courtyard, he'd felt an intense urge to run over to both of them, just to confirm that they were real. But he'd stopped himself. Fought down the emotions that threatened to give them all away.

He'd learned one important fact this afternoon: Brother Tibs was looking for any excuse to kill him. He'd been taught the lesson when, after lunch, Brother Tibs had sadistically announced that he'd be happy to help McKay learn how to remain silent. They had been walking across the courtyard, towards the kitchen. They were unobserved by the other monks who had gone back to their respective duties.

As yet not completely wary of Tibs, he hadn't been prepared for what came next. Tibs mood changed, he picked up a bucket, swung it and promptly clobbered McKay right across the side of the jaw.

It might have been vaguely amusing if Tibs hadn't applied every piece of force he had in his arm, and the bucket wasn't a smaller version of the wooden tub. Solid wood, rivets, two iron bands and pitch acting as a water proofing agent inside. It weighed around two kilos without the water. Not heavy but enough weight to hurt. A rivet caught him across the lip. The bucket smacked into the side of his face. He staggered back and his brain was telling him that what he should be doing was screaming at Tibs but he was too busy lifting up an arm to defend himself as Tibs used the bucket to wail on McKay.

What he wanted to say was, "What kind of a place lets psychos be clerics?!" But he didn't. He also didn't once more issue his empty threat about a team of marines arriving from Atlantis and making Tibs pay or that Sheppard would shoot Tibs, or maybe Ronon would stab Tibs or a hundred other ideas that flitted through his mind when he contemplated getting his revenge.

Tibs seemed to pick up the pace, wailing on McKay in a not-particularly-determined way. While he was smacking McKay with the bucket, Tibs was smiling. It was the smile of a man who thought that his actions were entertaining. A mildly amusing distraction from the course of the day.

All Rodney could do was put up an arm to defend himself and try and get out of the way. When Tibs finally backed off, McKay took a step forward, holding his jaw with his left hand, feeling blood trickle off his lip. He didn't know what he was going to do, but even geeky scientists had their breaking points. Curling up his right hand into a fist, he thought he might be able to get off one ineffectual punch.

Then he saw it. The smile that said Tibs was waiting for McKay to make this move. Waiting for any chance to inflict a considerable amount of pain on McKay, just for the pleasure of being able to do so.

It took one hell of a lot of willpower for Rodney to not take one step further. For him to uncurl his right hand. To stand there, nursing his jaw and not say a word. To stand and relive all those moments in school, in all those playgrounds, getting kicked around by the local bully.

Brother Tibs continued to stand there, also waiting. The insane smile slowly faded, his eyes narrowing. Before he could advance, a group of monks walked through the courtyard and Tibs' slipped his mask of normality back on.

Two of the monks headed for Tibs, determined to ask some questions about the Seer. He listened intently, nodded, walked with them for a few paces to get them out of earshot and then came back to McKay. Who was still standing there wondering why no one had noticed he had a bruised face and a bleeding and swollen lip.

Tibs bent closer to whisper in his ear. "If you tell Darius or anyone else… I _can make you disappear_. I won't kill you though. Not for a while."

The monk put his normal smile back on and strode back to the others, already back to the helpful and knowledgeable Tibs they knew and admired.

Rodney stood there, shivering from cold and adrenaline. Tibs was crazy. He hated McKay. He was looking for any excuse to hurt him.

He was in deep, deep shit.

Dazed, the only activity he could think of was just to keep doing what he'd been doing. Haul up water and clean the wooden bath tub. Try to ignore the throbbing in his jaw and mouth and the developing blisters on his hands.

That was when he saw Carson and Ronon and his first thought was this: _everything will be okay now_.

But he had to be quiet about this too. He needed to keep his mouth shut. So they'd all survive.

((--))

Carson and Ronon were sitting at a table in the large kitchen while a team of monks went about preparing food for dinner. Another team was working on cleaning the various plates, knives and forks used for lunch. Another team that looked to be senior was also sitting at the table, ignoring the two new candidates and busily arguing over a menu plan.

Carson thought that for the most part they seemed a friendly lot. Perfectly normal, jovial even. They hadn't exactly been greeted with open arms, but someone had been polite enough to bring them water and some bread.

He listened to the conversation taking place in front of him.

"The Seer cannot be served food like that! The Seer is pure and part of Machine and that is a dish that is most likely to end any purity he has…"

"It is a cream puff, Brother Ezkal, not a call to gluttony. Besides, it is hardly a matter of purity, more like a matter of enjoying his meals."

"One day it is a cream puff and the next day it is a dozen. Sin should not be ignored."

"I am sure in the Seer's case we are allowed to make an exception."

Carson couldn't help himself because his curiosity had managed to get the better of him. He cleared his throat. The two monks broke off their conversation to stare at him. "Ah. Hello. I was wondering if you could tell me more about the Seer? My friend and I are novices."

Brother Ezkal, a man in his mid-forties snorted derisively at Carson's innocent question. "Typical initiates. Never bother to do any research, never bother to study the ways of the Abbey or Machine. Come in here expecting all the answers given to them with a side helping of butter."

Carson tried to look suitably contrite. "The place where I come from has, uh, limited knowledge of these matters. We're more interested in exploring."

"If you are anything like the other villagers, then presumably it also involves exploring for items you can sell or steal."

Carson shook his head. "My people aren't even a wee bit interested in stealing or selling."

Brother Ezkal looked Carson over, presumably sizing up his accent and strange mannerisms. "What about your friend here? You seem an odd match."

Ronon eased himself back in his chair, unperturbed by the scrutiny. "I like to hang around in the background and observe. Beckett's the one in charge of talking."

For some unknown reason this make the monk smile. "Well, now you are here, I cannot very well throw you out to wander around by yourselves or Brother Darius would be furious."

Carson returned the smile, trying to be as friendly as possible. "We appreciate that. And I hope you weren't offended by my question about the Seer."

"I shouldn't expect people from outside of the town to know of these things. Sometime it's easy to forget how things are outside of the Abby." Brother Ezkal stopped working on the food preparation, wiped his hand on an already grubby towel and sat down at the table. "The Seer comes to us every so often. Sent by God, or so the book says. The Seer has certain qualities inside of him that enables him to be one with Machine."

Carson raised an eyebrow in Ronon's direction. Considering the usual messes that Sheppard and McKay got themselves into, it wasn't a big leap to figure out where the conversation was heading. "This Seer… Have you seen him?"

"Yes, he came in two days ago. Wearing strange clothing. He was with another man. Novice McKay."

Ronon sat forward slightly, his attention focused onto Ezkal. "You said that the Seer and Machine become one…"

"Yes, they need to be together to solve the problem. Of course, it's not permanent, otherwise Seer would die. She keeps him for a time and then lets him rest."

"That's very generous of her," said Carson, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Ezkal didn't pick up on it but nodded in agreement. "There has been no Seer in nearly thirty years. We were beginning to worry. Machine was suffering."

"That sounds terrible. You know, Ezkal, I have some knowledge of healing. I was trained by… Some elders. If you need me to help with Machine or the Seer, I'm sure I could be of service."

Ezkal got up from his seat, went back to working with a batch of bread dough. "That's a generous offer friend Carson. I will be sure to mention it."

From the tone in Ezkal's voice, Carson wasn't entirely sure as to whether that was a good or bad thing.

((--))

Afghanistan was a country consisting of mountains, hilly terrain, rocks, caves and flat bits. It was hell to fly in, especially during the early days of Operation Enduring Freedom because most of the hazards had yet to be mapped. A chopper was just as likely to be downed by an unknown electrical cable that never provided any power, in the middle of nowhere, than to be brought down by Taliban fighters.

Captain Lyle Holland had gone down somewhere near South Waziristan; the border area between Afghanistan and Pakistan. It was a major crossing point for any 'freedom' fighters trying to get into Afghanistan and for anyone trying to get out. The entire area was lawless and due to its mountainous terrain, and cave systems, a perfect place to hide.

He'd gone out in the morning to a frag destination somewhere in the middle of it all to try and get a fix on a group of Taliban fighters armed with ancient soviet RPGs, who were making life difficult for US and coalition forces.

At eighteen-hundred he was well and truly overdue. Sheppard was well and truly worried. The nights in Afghanistan tended towards bitterly cold and if Lyle was out there injured, his chances of surviving were dropping much like the temperature.

He did the only thing he could. Waited for an order to mount a SAR mission for Holland. And when that didn't happen, at twenty-hundred Sheppard went and found his commanding Officer. He explained his carefully thought out plan, how they could attempt to conduct a search and how this would allow them to extract Captain Holland. He politely but forcefully requested permission to begin the search.

He was politely and respectfully declined. A SAR mission at night, in that kind of terrain would probably result in Sheppard's death and the loss of an expensive helicopter. South Waziristan was crawling with Taliban and a host of insurgents. The place was also crawling with US and coalition forces, all of them stretched to the limit. If Lyle survived the night – doubtful considering the nature of his last radio transmission - he probably wouldn't manage to evade capture. Of course, the US military would try arranging a joint extraction with the Afghanistan government but an American captured by Taliban or anyone else in that region wasn't going to last long. They would wait until morning and reassess the situation.

Sheppard listened to the argument for waiting for Lyle Holland to die, if he wasn't dead already, and said to his CO, "We don't leave a man behind."

The CO was not a bad guy, but he didn't get to where he was by disobeying orders or breaking with protocol, so the CO gave him the patented-sympathy-look-reserved-for-subordinates and said, "I'm sorry, Major. I can try taking it upstairs to command and see what they say. But until we hear from them, that's the way it has to be."

The CO saluted, Sheppard saluted back. He'd been dismissed. He left the office, trying to keep his face an emotionless mask, but the red hue crawling up his face gave him away. He was angry. Hadn't felt that angry since he'd last seen his father and once more, it was the same issue.

Betrayal. Desertion of loved ones.

The two biggies that pushed all of his emotional buttons.

That was when he did the one thing that should never be done in the military. He disobeyed an order, splitting hairs and telling himself that his CO had never explicitly told him not to go. He was scheduled on flight ops the next day anyway. He took off as normal and then simply deviated from his flight plan by a hundred kilometers in the opposite direction, pretending he had some sort of freaky navigation problem.

After five minutes of the flight controller screaming at him over the radio, he turned it off. Yeah, he was screwed. A traffic hazard to any other traffic in the air, and taking off on some harebrained rescue mission into Taliban occupied territory where he was more than likely to be shot down himself.

His theory of more-than-likely-shot-down was proved correct when some bastard with nothing more than a rifle managed to take out his tail rotor when he was coming around for another pass. He'd ditched, figured he might as well walk to Holland's last known position, couldn't find him, walked some more, and then there he was. When he found Holland, and he was still alive, he felt vindicated. Even if they court-martialed his ass from here to the South Pole and back, he had remained true to his own principles. He'd rescued a friend and a colleague and after losing Mitch and Dex, he was determined it wouldn't happen again. Small comfort – the military did not run on principles. It ran on completing missions.

Things went distinctly downhill from there. For a start, they had no usable transportation in a region crawling with people who were looking to knock the stuffing out of any western imperialists they happened to find out on a day stroll.

Going east instead of west bordered on suicidal stupidity. Christ, his luck was as bad as ever. How the hell he hadn't been killed yet, he'd never know. But that was the point. Holland was the one to die, not him. In his reality anyway.

Machine grabbed that moment, jerked him around, and then it wasn't Holland dying, oh no, it was him. Bruised and battered, his leg broken and someone leaning over him screaming at him in Farsi, a language that he didn't understand, except for the basics of being able to yell out, "Surrender your weapons and we won't hurt you".

The man that was yelling at him was losing patience. Not that Sheppard was going to tell him anything. The man hit him across the face a couple of times, hard enough to make his nose bleed. He stalked off to his companions and they talked amongst themselves.

Holland was looking worried. "Hey Sheppard, I think we've got problems."

Another man punched Holland in the mouth for talking.

There was more arguing within the small huddle of their captors before it stopped and the lead man stood up, pulled out his pistol, strode towards Sheppard and shot him in the head.

At least it saved him from the humiliation of the court-martial.

((--))

Benevolent Father was growing impatient and more than a little concerned. When the previous two Seers had joined with Machine, they had worked towards solving the problem within a day or two. With this Seer it was taking far too long to get to the future. Instead, Machine was stuck with him in the past, rewinding and reviewing dozens of outcomes.

He was tired of looking at the monitor and watching the Seer die in a multitude of bad ways. Some deaths were relatively clean, but mostly cruel and bloody. He was tired of watching the Seer's blood leaking over the ground.

Unfortunately there was no way to speed the process up, and they were now committed for the long haul. But still, it concerned him.

He wondered what exactly, the effects were on the Seer. Machine couldn't work with someone who had become too disconnected from reality. Their joining would break down and he'd be forced to find yet another Seer.

The monitor flashed again, and went blank, signifying that Machine, for the moment, was letting the Seer have a break.

((--))

"You're such a fucking prick."

Same fight they always had. Same words. He'd forgotten all of the reasons. There were so many. Something about the fact that he could never remember to pay her any attention, or tell her that he loved her, or have a serious conversation, or stop acting like a child, or that he kept dragging his feet about having a child, or that he'd just reupped when she'd been prodding him for the civilian lifestyle of an airline pilot. There were other aspects of him that she hated, or had grown to hate.

She hated that he wouldn't get any help, that sometimes he had to sleep in a separate room just to be able to sleep, or that he'd wander around the house until one in the morning before he was exhausted enough to even consider going to bed, or on the really bad days – the ones that didn't happen that often – she'd have to pick his drunken ass off the bathroom floor. She hated that when he was like that, he had a cruel streak a mile long. He knew exactly what to say to hurt her. He would accuse her of having affairs. He'd never hit her, but by God, he could reduce her to incoherent tears. She hated that when she tried to get him to talk about it, he'd have a dozen things to do. Go for a run, go to the gym, anything to escape that particular conversation.

She hated that the one time he'd tried to talk about all the various traumas in his life, all the things that turned him into the John Sheppard that she'd married, he'd wound up curling into himself in the bed and being unable to talk to her again for three days, except to ask her to pass the salt at dinner.

He hated that she kept making him confront his own vulnerabilities. To go there meant risking his tenuous and carefully guarded self control.

He was sick of arguing with her. He went and stood at their living room window and looked out at all the other base housing with all the neatly manicured lawns. "What do you want to do Chrissy? Just tell me because I'm out of options."

There was a moment's hesitation. "I want a divorce. I'm in love with someone else."

Yeah, that was a body blow. Divorce wasn't unexpected. Christine having an affair was, even though he'd been paranoid to suspect as much. Then again, maybe at the back of his mind even that wasn't so unexpected. He was never around, and when he was, he might as well not be.

He turned back from the window and for some reason Not Mitch had turned up and had his arm around Christine's shoulders.

"So, buddy, how's it feel to find out I'm screwing your wife?"

Sheppard blinked at the thoroughly bizarre sight of his pretty wife, and Not Mitch's bloated and stinking corpse standing in the middle of their tidy and tastefully decorated living room.

"She was sleeping with a hotel manager. David someone. That's not you," said Sheppard, surprising himself at the even tone of his voice.

Not Mitch shrugged, dripped a puddle of decaying liquids onto the carpet, and used one bloated finger to trace Christine's jaw line. She smiled up at him.

"Don't tell me that you didn't have any thoughts that way though… You always suspected she was sleeping around, you just didn't have the balls to do anything about it. Except try and figure out the likely suspects. Then accuse her of sleeping with your friends when she wasn't actually doing anything. Of course, the irony was that she was loyal to you and completely faithful until you reupped behind her back. What did you expect the poor woman to do after that? Lie back and think of England?"

Christine cuddled into the embrace of Not Mitch. Sheppard fought down the urge to throw up.

"Leave her alone."

"Why? So you can ignore her some more?"

Not Mitch bent down, puckered up the remains of lips that sat over the enlarged tongue protruding from his mouth. Christine leaned up to kiss Not Mitch and Sheppard spun away, turned back to the window.

He concentrated on the world outside. On the lawns, and the flags slowly rolling in the breeze, and the blue sky and oh look, there was their next door neighbor, Susan Taylor, walking back home.

Susan Taylor resembled his mother. He squinted. Actually, it _was_ his mother. He tapped on the window trying to get her attention.

Behind him, he heard Christine let out a moan of passion and no way was he looking back over his shoulder. He knocked harder on the glass but his mother couldn't hear, or didn't want to and she was almost out of range, walking towards her house.

"Hey Sheppard, your wife is a really good kisser."

His view had changed. He was eight-years-old. He screamed at her through the window, smashed both hands on the glass, the glass rocked in the frame but still she would not see him, or acknowledge him and then he used both hands again, forced them with all his might and the glass shattered and broke. His forearms went through the panes.

Blood began dripping everywhere.

Not Mitch said from behind him, "Jesus, Shep, I don't know why you're making such a fuss. She never wanted you in the first place."

He didn't know if Not Mitch was talking about his mother or Christine.

((--))

Rodney had run out of chores to do around three in the afternoon. Trying to figure out what he should do next, and hoping to avoid Tibs, as well as resisting the urge to seek out Ronon and Carson and getting them all into trouble, he'd settled on not leaving the Seer's room, but instead going back to the scrolls. As long as he remembered to roll them back up and tie them appropriately when he'd finished, no one needed to know.

He pulled two of the scrolls that were color coded to say they were writings about Machine and sat down to study them. One of them was the history of Machine. From what he could make out from the pidgin Ancient, she'd been on the planet far longer than 10,000 years. A lot longer. The culture had evolved and from what he could make out from the combination of the pictures and words, Machine had been found inside a ruin. He'd have to guess that the ruin had been an Ancient lab of some type. The text implied that those that discovered Machine had initially wanted to kill her as an abomination, but a more enlightened man – a monk – had stopped them from destroying her.

The tricky bit was why. Why had the monk decided not to destroy her? Pity? Then there was also the small matter of how she'd managed to survive for about 10,000 years with no power source.

Or was there a power source somewhere around that he didn't know about?

He kept reading as best he could, wishing he had a pen and paper so he could make notes. The scroll ended with the monk instructing them to build around Machine to ensure that she was protected and from there sprung up the Abbey and the surrounding town.

Making sure he had the correct colored tie, he tied the scroll back up and carefully put it back into the correct location on the bookshelf. He turned his attentions to the other scroll he'd removed.

It was more difficult to make out initially, gave him a headache from having to concentrate as the pidgin Ancient was almost fazed out and it was all in the native language of the area. He could however, make out something about the first monk and Machine being… joined.

Well, that explained a lot.

He was deep in concentration when Darius walked through the doors leading from the courtyard.

"What are you doing, McKay?"

Rodney jerked his head up, almost giving himself whiplash. Darius was looking at him curiously and behind him, God love them both, Ronon and Carson.

He took a deep breath, made sure he didn't smile, even though he was desperate to smile, and tried to adopt a subservient demeanor. Not hard considering how scared he was of Tibs and by association, Darius.

"I was trying to… Uh, trying to learn as much as I could about making sure I did my duties properly." He felt a little swell of pride at such an effective fib.

Darius smiled at him, seemingly taken in by McKay's willingness to knuckle down and adhere to the rules. "This pleases me, and I am sure that it will please Brother Tibs as well." Darius gestured to Carson and Ronon. "I have two novices with me, and as the Benevolent Father is occupied with the Seer, I decided to show them around the Abbey."

McKay tried to keep up appearances. He did not know Carson. He did not know Ronon. They were strangers. He just had to keep chanting that to himself and not make any eye contact.

"I think that's a good idea."

"Brother Darius, I noticed that McKay has some bruising on his face." It was Carson. Right out of nowhere. "If you don't mind, I'd like to take a closer look."

Darius peered at McKay, then turned to Carson. "Certainly, but I do not understand why. He can eat, talk and breathe."

Carson shrugged, tried to appear nonchalant. "I was taught in the art of healing at my village. I'm always interested in seeing if I can help out."

Darius raised an eyebrow at him as if Carson's response was bordering on crazy. "I do not see why not, but it seems a waste of time."

McKay watched as Carson came forward to look at the bruising and swollen lip in more detail. An expert hand gently probed the jaw. Rodney winced but that was it.

"Well, it's not broken and I don't think the lip needs any stitches," said Carson.

"No," said McKay. "I'm okay. Hurts though." He'd been so succinct in summing up the ache in his jaw that Rodney thought Ronon had gone into shock. Mainly because succinct was Ronon's area.

Darius seemed to be growing bored with the attention being paid to Rodney and vaguely suspicious as the two men spoke to each other. "It is time we moved on and I showed you the rest of the Abbey."

Carson nodded, playing along. "Of course. I'm sure it's very interesting."

"We will have to see Benevolent Father at some point and perhaps discuss if you could be of service to the Seer. In the interim, I shall take you to your rooms and you can change."

Darius started to leave the room and Ronon and Carson had no choice but to follow. As they left, McKay just stared after them. If the Benevolent Father allowed Carson to take care of Sheppard it would solve a bunch of problems. But that just meant Carson would attract the attention of Tibs.

And Tibs was the one that could get them killed.

((--))

What he really wanted to do right now, was cut off his own head. It hurt that much. Now he knew how migraine sufferers felt. They felt like shit.

"Seer?"

Oh great. Machine again. Why the hell wouldn't she stop talking to him? He just wanted to be in a bed, and not think for one or two days.

"Seer?"

_Justshutupandstoptalkingtome_.

"What?" It hurt to say one word.

"This is taking longer than I expected."

"How sad, too bad." It was about as much sarcasm as he could manage. "You can stop if you like. I won't tell anyone if you won't."

Every time he spoke, a little man with a sledgehammer tried pounding his brains out through his skull. At least Machine had temporarily stopped talking with his last comment. In fact, she seemed to be at a temporary loss for words.

He went back to trying to imagine he was somewhere else. Not a swimming pool, considering what he was floating around in. Not anywhere recently visited like Afghanistan. Maybe Atlantis. He liked walking around on the pier. Mostly deserted in winter, large enough to ensure a good run. Ideal for people who didn't want to indulge in idle chit-chat with others.

Okay, so he just had to get himself into that space mentally. Ignore the pounding in his head, and the pain behind his eyes. He was on the pier and he was running…

"Seer."

He on the pier and he was running…

"Seer!"

He opened his eyes just a fraction. The orb of light above his head pierced his retinas and brought back the overwhelming urge to throw up.

"Leave me alone."

"I have checked my instructions. All possible points from the past must be calculated to obtain the new point in the future. I cannot stop."

Yeah, well, he didn't think he was going to get a break from Machine any time soon. "Whatever," he snarled back.

Again with the pause. "None of my other Seers were like you. They loved me. They respected me. Why do you not love me?"

"I'm not drunk enough."

Machine's mood seemed to change. "I was going to let you rest some more, but now I think we will finish this phase, rather than draw it out and that will be that."

A flash, bright lights, he tried moving again, even though it was futile. His head was burning, everything on fire, he tasted blood on his lips, his nose was bleeding, he couldn't see for the light, he squeezed his eyes shut (after all, didn't want to go blind), his heart was beating too fast, his body hurt, didn't she say she'd made the pain go away so he wouldn't be distracted, he was panicking, anxiety crawling out of his stomach, oh God, make it stop, make it go away, anything…

Wraith. Bugs. Feeding on him. Everyone relying on him and dying because they were relying on him. Shootings. Torture. Kidnapping. Koyla. Replicators. More Wraith, in no particular order. Asphyxiation. Immolation.

He screamed for a long time, and then his voice gave out and he couldn't scream any more, just rasp out his protests and he couldn't wipe his eyes, God damn it. He was crying, uncontrolled tears rolling down his face, his nose joining in with a stream of snot.

He hated her. She hated him. No way for either of them to make the relationship end.

As he was lying on the ground, a shriveled husk, the Wraith not giving him back his life, but taking it completely, he prayed that someone would save him or kill him for real.

((--))

Benevolent Father was frightened and alarmed. The Seer had begun screaming and had not stopped until he could no longer scream. The monitor had shown images too fast for Benevolent Father to even comprehend. Images of the Seer dying over and over again, even worse than the images he'd seen in the morning.

Darkness was falling and Machine seemed to be no closer to finishing with the Seer for the day. Dare he say anything? Would she even talk to him?

"Beloved Machine…"

No immediate response but then the glow on her changed as she shifted her attention.

"Yes?"

"I sense something is wrong. Is it the Seer?"

"He does not love me. He makes the process difficult. I find _him_ difficult."

"Is that because the process is taking longer than expected?"

"Yes. There are many points to calculate. It is hard work. It takes more energy then I am used to expending."

"Is there anything I can do for you, Machine?"

"No."

"When do you think the Seer will be released?"

"When I am finished."

She cut off communication with him at that point and Benevolent Father was left feeling helpless. This was not the Machine he knew and loved. She seemed to be bordering on vindictiveness. If she killed the Seer through her actions, he'd never get his answer.

((--))

It was taking too long. Taking longer than it had yesterday. He'd made an approximate note of time. Machine had released Sheppard around twenty-thirty and then it had taken about thirty minutes to get him out of the chamber and into the room.

It was twenty-three hundred. No sign of anything happening.

He was waiting with the others in the Seer's room. Everyone was quiet, mostly concentrating on their duties. Sewing. Endlessly straightening out the bed. Making sure the water the ready for the bath by emptying it and refilling it and McKay being forced to fetch more buckets of water.

Even Tibs seemed concerned. He was seated by the fire place, staring at the flames.

Rodney was tired, but he sure as hell didn't want to go to sleep. Besides, everyone else was wide awake and Tibs would take any sign of weakness as yet more proof of Rodney's failings. Rodney didn't get it anyway. Why didn't Tibs just kill him outright? Or was it that Tibs didn't dare flout breaking the rules of the Abbey? Presumably rules that said beatings were fine, but killing wasn't so good.

He decided that he would read more scrolls, but this time around it would mean seeking permission. Leaving his seat as quietly as possible, he slowly approached Brother Tibs, and then rather than clear his throat or speak, stood there and waited until his presence caught Tibs' attention.

Tibs paid him no heed, and McKay could only stick with his plan and not move an inch. It paid off when Tibs seemed to realize he was there, ten minutes later.

"Do you want something from me, Novice McKay?"

"Yes, I wanted to read the scrolls while we were waiting. Can I?" He tried not to wince at sounding like a child.

"Of course." It seemed his subservient stance made all the difference. He was going to have to try really hard not to show just how much it was humiliating him. Rodney McKay was not a person used to be in a subservient position. He was team leader, in charge of the science team on Atlantis. He set the rules, provided the guidelines. They asked him for permission to sally forth and turn on pieces of equipment they didn't understand and he granted them that permission if he thought it was a good idea.

He did not like being in the position of having to ask. He hadn't liked it when he was the junior member of the research team being forced to ask his team leader if he could charge off and work on one of his ideas.

Forcing himself to turn, he marched himself back to the bookcase, took down more scrolls, carefully unrolled and laid them out.

He'd damn well figure out this puzzle and provide an answer. Just to stuff the knowledge down Tibs throat.

((--))

He couldn't stop crying. Why couldn't he stop crying? This wasn't right, not exactly manly. He didn't cry, the ability had left him long ago. Just one too many times of seeing friends killed to be able to cope with it anymore. Sure, he'd been told it was healthy to cry. Mainly by all those tree hugging hippie types, like the front line combat stress teams.

Since when had he been healthy?

A little voice at the back of his mind said that he wasn't supposed to be here. Floating around in a batch of lukewarm, custard like fluid but the little voice was fighting with a bigger one telling him he'd been here forever. He was never getting out. Just floating around, nowhere to go, no way to get out. He was dying here, hundreds of times. Over and over again.

What made him sad was not that he kept dying, it was the way in which other people got hurt as part of the process.

It was endless.

"I am finished."

The voice of a woman, one that he knew he hated. At least he thought so.

"Christine?"

"No, Seer. Machine."

He didn't reply. Just floated around. Pretty sure his eyeballs had melted in his head. He closed his eyes again, thought he might be moving but wasn't sure.

Someone grabbed his foot.

Frightened, he tried pushing away, but his movements were sluggish. Suddenly there were too many voices, too many faces, and he was cold. Wherever he was, it was cold. They kept touching him and touching hurt, made his nerves fire and jangle as if they were driving spikes into his muscles.

He tried screaming again but nothing emerged except a scratched up whimper of pain.

Why couldn't anyone leave him the fuck alone?

((--))

McKay was panicking. Machine had released Sheppard at six in the morning. He'd been in the damn thing for eighteen hours.

And when he emerged, it was as a shaking, shuddering mess. He was worse. Far worse. Completely uncoordinated, disoriented, covered in new blisters, stinking of vomit, forehead a bloodied rash, eyes red rimmed, covered in the fluids of Machine.

It had taken all of Tibs and Darius' strength just to reach inside Machine and haul him out. He'd fought them the entire way. Rodney couldn't do much except stand and watch, and note that the Benevolent Father seemed as shocked as he was.

They'd manhandled Sheppard onto a stretcher, and he'd cried in pain, and hurrying inside the Seer's room, it seemed by the actions of everyone that no one had encountered this before.

Tibs and Darius tried helping Sheppard off the stretcher, but unlike the previous day, he wasn't even up to being moved. It was like watching an animal struggle against its rescuers. It didn't know why it was struggling, but just that the struggle kept it anchored onto life. To stop struggling was to die.

Tibs beckoned him over and McKay knew what he was supposed to do. His job, as a familiar face, was to try and calm the wounded animal down. Speak to it in a voice of nonsense long enough for its captors to do what they needed.

"Sheppard. Hey, Sheppard!"

Rodney watched Sheppard moving his head around, eyes opening and closing, trying to get away and not knowing how. McKay put both hands on either side of Sheppard's face, wrinkled his nose in disgust as his fingers slipped through the layer of gunk covering Sheppard, and made sure Sheppard's gaze was directed towards Rodney.

"Hey! Hey, Captain Kirk! Anyone at home?"

Sheppard squinted, seemed to recognize him. Maybe. In a small voice, barely above a whisper, he said, "I want to go home."

"Oh, hell. I know exactly what you mean." There wasn't much more he could say. He wanted to go home too, but there was no way to get there at the moment.

Sheppard closed his eyes, tried to bat McKay's hands away, twisted weakly, moaning from pain.

"Sheppard. Hey, Sheppard, we're going to try and help you here. Let us help you."

The body on the stretcher wasn't listening. It was twisting, arching, rolling and off the stretcher and trying to get to its knees to crawl away.

Rodney didn't know what to do. He reached over, got a hand on Sheppard's shoulder to stop him. Tibs and Darius were simultaneously copying his act. Three sets of hands trying to stop Sheppard from getting himself hurt any more than he already was.

Sheppard didn't have the strength to resist, even though he was clearly willing himself to fight. They managed to wrestle him back onto the stretcher if only because it made it easier to get him over to the bath.

McKay couldn't help himself. "We are so fucked."

Tibs gaze turned from caring to hard, as he switched his attentions to Rodney. "What did you say, McKay?"

"Nothing. I, I was just talking to the Seer. Um, it's a phrase to, uh… Wish someone luck. You know, like 'we are so lucky'".

Tibs didn't appear convinced but he didn't have time to press it any further. He had a Seer to attend to.

A Seer that had abruptly pushed himself upright with shaking arms and was now throwing up all over himself. They'd barely had time to react to that disturbing development when he dropped back and passed out.

McKay watched the rise and fall of his chest. It seemed too fast. And too shallow. He was going to take a chance.

"I met a novice this afternoon. I think his name is Carson. He said he was a healer. Maybe we should get him." This time he didn't try to keep the panic out of his voice.

Darius stepped forward, also looking distressed by Sheppard's condition. "Yes, that's right. Brother Ezkal also told me that Carson talked about his abilities in the kitchen."

Tibs seemed unconvinced however. "I have always taken care of the Seer in these matters."

Darius gestured at Sheppard. "Does this look like a matter you are familiar with Brother Tibs? He does not move. He does not seem to be breathing correctly."

Tibs passed his gaze over the prone form, watched as Sheppard fitfully coughed. "I agree. Go and bring me Carson, and we shall hope he can help the Seer."

Darius nodded and immediately ran out of the door. Tibs whirled on McKay. Grabbed him by the arm. "You had better pray to the Wise Ones and Machine that you are not trying to deceive me. I will not spare you, if you do."

McKay vehemently shook his head and kept his mouth shut. He'd only been here two days and he was getting really good at lying.

Threats of death tended to have that effect on people.

**End of Chapter Seven.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Ronon was having problems with his new outfit. Darius had insisted he change into the robes worn by everyone in the Abbey but everyone else in the Abbey was between five-feet nothing and five-feet, twelve-inches. The last time he'd been five-feet tall, he'd been ten.

The bottom of the robe was just below his knees, looking more like a skirt than a robe. Carson was also dressed in a robe, and was trying very hard not to laugh out loud. Ronon ignored the gleam in Caron's eyes as the Scottish doctor fought the desire to offer an observation. Ronon figured that if Carson commented on his any aspect of his legs or feet, then he'd just have to strangle him.

He looked around the barren room once more. It had two beds in it. Apparently novices were forced to share a room as the single rooms were reserved for those that had either been fully accepted into the order, or had paid their dues. They'd been locked in, so there wasn't much more to do except try and look like they were going to play the game, and wait.

Waiting wasn't one of his strong points.

"The robe suits you."

Ronon cast a withering stare at Carson and silently dared him to keep going.

"I think they're much better shorter. Bloody thing is probably going to trip me up."

Ronon wondered if Carson was oblivious to his withering stare, or he was simply choosing to ignore it.

"Are your legs cold?"

"No. Stop talking about the robe," stated Ronon. As evenly as possible.

Carson opened his mouth again, presumably just to see how far he could push the matter, when Ronon heard the sound of a key in a lock.

He reacted instinctively, getting himself between Carson and the door, and bunching up a fist to knock their unexpected visitor into next week.

The door opened to reveal Brother Darius. His expression was one of a man being forced into matters outside of his experience.

"You must come quickly. There is something wrong with the Seer."

Carson didn't hesitate. He stepped from behind Ronon, strode towards Darius, not even sparing a backwards glance.

Ronon shrugged and followed the men, preparing himself for whatever lay ahead.

((--))

Sheppard wanted out. Wherever out was. Away from this place, away from the people that kept trying to touch him, that wouldn't let him get away, and kept talking to him.

The only thing he knew was that in all the voices he didn't recognize, there was one familiar voice that he did. Sort of. And his annoying little inner voice told him that the voice was associated with a pain in the ass. A pain in the ass that he could trust.

"You're going to be okay. Well, I think you are anyway, but what do I know? I'm not an expert in the mystical art of voodoo. I can stick a Band-Aid on, but I'm right out of my depth here…"

Pain lanced through his body, pretty much the same pain that he was subjected to every time Machine tried to join with him. Only this time Machine didn't seem to be around to make it go away either. He tried rolling away from it, but people kept stopping him.

"Try not to fight so much because we're trying to help you."

He wished the voice would be quiet. If it was quiet, maybe the pain would go away.

"Bloody hell! What in God's name are you doing to him!?"

Oh, he knew that voice too. Maybe the cavalry had arrived.

((--))

Rodney didn't think he'd been so glad to see anyone in his entire life. Carson's arrival usually signified that any major medical problems were about to be taken care of with alacrity.

Carson and Ronon's entrance coincided with Rodney's continued attempts to calm Sheppard down and Sheppard's continued attempts to crawl away to wherever he'd decided was better than this room.

Between Tibs, and McKay and some other hapless monk recruited to replace Darius, it resembled a mass tackle by linebackers, five yards from the end zone. Five minutes after collapsing, Sheppard had abruptly spun back into life, sitting upright and attempting to escape. Again. He didn't seem to be aware enough to process one single sentence out of McKay's mouth, so they'd opted for physically restraining him for lack of a better solution.

Despite Carson's entrance, he didn't stop trying to hold Sheppard down. No easy task when the guy was as slippery as a greased pig. If Tibs and the other monk hadn't been helping, he wasn't entirely sure where Sheppard would be by now. Probably rolled up against the door, trying to figure out how to use the door handle.

Carson hurried over to the writhing Sheppard, and the equally struggling McKay.

"I think you're frightening the poor lad."

The master of stating the obvious had arrived. He didn't say that of course. Instead, he was far too aware of his proximity to Tibs and it was Tibs that was going to decide whether Carson was allowed to stay. So he kept his mouth shut, and waited to see what Tibs would do.

Tibs spared a glance at Carson, seemed to come to the rapid decision that the man was no threat to Tibs, for whatever reason. Although considering Tibs' unstable personality, that particular conclusion was probably not going to hold for long.

"What would you suggest?" Tibs' tone of voice was even, but he didn't let go of Sheppard who was once more twisting around in their grip, legs weakly kicking out against the floor.

"Well, my first step would be to examine him, if you'd let me. From there I might be able to determine the best course of treatment."

Tibs didn't seem entirely convinced but he paused, nodded once to Rodney and the other monk that they should back off. Rodney slowly let go of Sheppard's shoulders, the monk and Tibs letting go of his arms.

Rodney moved himself back, waited to see what happened. Upon release, Sheppard made one more attempt to get himself moving, and failed miserably before he seemed to calm down a fraction. Carson seemed unperturbed by Sheppard's appearance and simply dropped to his knees so he could get closer.

He started by pressing his finger's to Sheppard's throat, feeling around for the pulse in the carotid artery. As he did so, Sheppard began moving around again but Carson kept his fingers in the same position. Once he'd located the pulse, he checked it against his own watch and that made Rodney instinctively hid his watch under his robe sleeves. It wouldn't take Tibs long to figure out that they knew each other. Not long at all.

"His pulse rate is high. What's this substance he's covered in?"

Carson's voice was strong, his tone confident. He addressed them like he addressed all his medical staff. He was kind, but they knew to do their job and it was not the time to argue. It was a tone that Tibs did not like to hear.

No one immediately answered, so Rodney took a risk and spoke up. "It's whatever fluid is in Machine. Whatever it is, it stinks as bad a dead skunk on a hot highway."

Carson smiled at that. Briefly. "Lovely analogy, Rod-" He stopped himself, perhaps realizing that familiarity with McKay was also going to give the game away. Instead, he beckoned to Ronon. "I need to get the Seer onto the bed so I can get a look at him."

Ronon didn't need to be told twice. He bent down, picked Sheppard up like a rag doll, even though the man was still trying to fight, and dumped him on the bed. It wasn't exactly graceful, but it did the trick. Rodney watched Carson observing Sheppard as Sheppard strained against Ronon's arms.

Tibs seemed baffled by this sudden change of plan, and about to protest but also seemed to be aware of the extended audience. He was an intelligent enough psychopath to know that losing his self control in front of others was an unwise move.

"Perhaps he should be cleaned first? That is what we usually do with the Seer," said Tibs.

Rodney meekly followed the group, hoped this wasn't moving to a showdown between Carson and Tibs.

Carson dismissed the idea. "We can do that on the bed, then change the sheets. He's in no condition to be plunged into a vat of water."

All eyes turned to Tibs but no one spoke. Tibs seemed undecided and it was Darius who broke the silence. "Perhaps we should follow Carson's advice, for this one time."

"Aye, and while you do that laddie, I wouldn't mind continuing on here, if I could."

Tibs finally spoke. "I have always taken care of the Seer. That is my job. I have been doing my job far longer than some novice that's been in the Abbey for a day. More to the point, these two could have been sent there to kill the Seer, and now we are just going to let them command all us to do as they tell us? Did you not notice that Carson was using the same technology that Sheppard and McKay possess? They could be giving us directions that would kill the Seer, and we would not know."

Considering the level of fixation on the Seer, it was a perfectly reasonable explanation. One that seemed to make sense to everyone else. Darius seemed undecided, but his loyalty to Tibs would swing him over in a few seconds.

Sighing, Rodney muscled his way through the group, went to stand beside Ronon and Carson. He had his allegiances and at least this time around, there were three of them. Well, with Ronon on their side more like seven of them since Ronon was the equivalent of four marines rolled into one.

Both groups stood there, Sheppard temporarily forgotten as they faced each other. Rodney pondered if the other monks could be as determined and vicious as Tibs, or as effective with a knife as Darius.

"Brothers! What is going on?"

The Benevolent Father had just arrived.

((--))

Elizabeth Weir sat at her desk. She was trying to work and failing miserably. Communications from the extraction team waiting on standby for a signal from Carson and Ronon had been reporting regularly but the reports consisted of the same thing: nothing to report.

She knew it would take them time. Of course. She just wished that the amount of time passing wasn't growing larger because that meant it had been harder to locate McKay and Sheppard than they'd presumed. Or Carson and Ronon were dead.

She was a diplomat and that meant she was a patient woman. She was used to waiting. But right about now however, she wanted to pick up a P-90 and storm the Abbey herself.

((--))

Carson didn't exactly know all the names of the players in the room, but it was obvious from the way the monks immediately backed off, that the newest entrant was the one with the biggest stick.

He strode forward in robes of a much higher quality and an off-white.

"What is going on here?" The man was looking at Tibs and Darius when he posed the question.

Tibs stepped forward. "Benevolent Father - this novice called Carson and his friends… I was afraid that they would attack and kill the Seer."

Benevolent Father walked quickly to the bedside of Sheppard, stopped in front of Carson. "And were you?"

"Not bloody likely. I'm here to help him." That was, of course, the truth.

The Benevolent Father seemed to be weighing up the sincerity of his answer and before he could give his response, Sheppard interrupted them all by sitting up.

"I'm never eating a sheep's eyeball ever again," said Sheppard. Then he swung his legs around, uncoordinated and clumsy and appeared to be making an attempt to stand.

Carson reacted immediately and put a hand on Sheppard's shoulder to prevent him from going further. "You need to lie down for a wee bit and rest."

Sheppard looked at him and Carson noted that there wasn't a lot of comprehension in his eyes.

"Seriously, I need to go and see the base doctor because I think I've got food poisoning."

Carson nodded, but didn't remove his hand. "Aye, considering what you're covered in, I wouldn't be surprised if you swallowed some of the stuff. God knows what nasties are lurking around in it."

Sheppard squirmed, and Carson noted how he was shifting his shoulder around, trying to shrug off Carson's hand but seemingly unable to come up with the solution of simply using his own hands to solve the problem.

Carson was aware that he was being stared at by everyone in the room, but his focus had narrowed to his patient and at the moment, that was all he had any concern for.

"Does it hurt to be touched?'

Sheppard nodded slowly. "Feels like someone keeps pushing nails into my muscles."

Carson removed his hand, and that seemed to satisfy Sheppard. "Could be your nerves over reacting to any stimuli. Firing off the pain receptors."

He doubted the majority of his audience understood what he'd just said, except perhaps for Rodney but this conversation wasn't for their benefit.

"Why don't you do me a wee favor and lie down on the bed, and then I can take a look at you? Do something about this food poisoning problem?" He pitched his voice in the most pleasant manner he could, hoping Sheppard still thought he was somewhere back on Earth and dealing with the aftereffects of eating a meal he shouldn't have.

The tone seemed to work. Sheppard did as he was told. "I wasn't going to eat it, but Mitch and Dex said I'd wind up offending them by refusing. Stupidest thing I ever did."

The Benevolent Father spoke, having made up his mind. "The novice shall continue to tend to the Seer. Who else do you require to be in attendance?"

Carson shifted his gaze from Sheppard and pointed at Ronon and McKay, trying to capitalize on the sudden shift in power from the monks to himself. "These two. No one else."

Benevolent Father shook his head. "You may have these two, but Brother Darius must remain for security reasons."

Carson, relieved, happily agreed to the arrangement. At least if they had to, maybe Ronon could overpower Darius. As Benevolent Father left the room, he went back to concentrating on Sheppard but not before he noted that Brother Tibs' face had gone a disturbing shade of crimson.

((--))

Someone was helping him. He had vague recollections of the same someone helping him before but his brain was too tired to figure it out. But the someone – maybe Sheppard would call him Someone (with a capital S), so that he had a name – seemed to be okay. He could at least trust him. And Someone appeared to listen to him, and even though he was touching him, it was with caution, lightly, and his nerves didn't protest so much from the assault.

He was sitting up, and wasn't sure how that had happened, but he was in bed, and that was good because he ached and he was tired. Someone had a pair of scissors and was cutting off his clothes. Crap, maybe he was in the Emergency room or something. Maybe he'd been in a car accident? Or maybe he'd ejected from the cockpit? He hoped not. A bad ejection could mean any number of injuries ranging from spinal compression fractures to dislocation and fractures. Maybe he should ask.

"Can someone tell me what's going on?"

Someone answered promptly. "You've had a bit of a rough time of late, but you'll be fine."

That was hardly a specific answer. He tried focusing on Someone so he could have a longer conversation, but it was almost impossible. The base doctor and the psychologist they'd flown in had been sensitive but they were pushing him for more detail on what happened after Holland had been killed. Not that it wasn't obvious considering his physical condition and the fact that all his fingers were broken.

"Yeah, they played rough. I… I didn't tell them anything. Just my name, rank and serial number."

He didn't know if the silence indicated sympathy or a lack of satisfaction with his answer.

((--))

Carson had set Ronon the task of cutting off Sheppard's clothing because Rodney had turned squeamish on him and stated that there was, "No way. I'm not touching him when he's covered in vomit."

"Thank you, Rodney. That's very helpful." He said it sarcastically. "If you won't help Ronon, then I want you to go to the kitchen and mix up one liter of water, one teaspoon of salt and eight teaspoons of sugar. If you can't find any sugar, then try and use fruit juice if they have it – something sweet. Remember to add the salt. Bring it back here as fast as you can."

Carson noted that Rodney seemed strangely reluctant to leave the room.

"Should I ask what it's for?"

Any other day, Carson might have taken the time to ask Rodney what was bugging him, but right now Sheppard was his primary concern

"It's for the Colonel. Now, hurry along man!"

McKay didn't put up any more arguments and promptly did as he was told but he seemed resigned, as if this one task was somehow going to be more trouble than it was worth. That left them alone with Darius but Carson refused to even acknowledge his presence. They would deal with him later.

Ronon had finished cutting off the clothes, yanking them from Sheppard as efficiently as possible and tossing them to the floor. He wasn't as gentle as he could be, but he was effective. Carson covered Sheppard with a towel and decided on his next move.

"Anything else you want me to do, Doc?" said Ronon.

"While we're waiting on Rodney, see if you can find any water around here and I'll need something to clean him up with."

Ronon stepped away from the bed, started walking towards the table and was interrupted by Darius.

"You have a problem with me?" Ronon loomed over Darius.

"No, novice. I was going to volunteer to help."

Ronon smiled, briefly, and immediately went to the supplies on the table and grabbed what appeared to be soap, and some washcloths. Darius went for the a beaker and a jug of water and promptly returned with it.

"Would you like me to pour the water?"

"Aye, and start getting the, Colonel – I mean, the Seer – to drink it."

Darius didn't say anything else, just set about his task. Sheppard didn't need any convincing – he grabbed the offered beaker and proceeded to drink the contents without stopping.

With Sheppard temporarily distracted, Carson considered the problem to hand. He was without his usual diagnostic instruments, not even his stethoscope. He was going to have to rely on good old fashioned observation techniques and take whatever actions he could with what was to hand.

The first thing a good clinician did was observe the overall state of the patient. Sheppard's physical signs included pallor, what appeared to be evidence of petechial hemorrhages on the inside of his right arm, and six blood blisters, over three centimeters in diameter on his back. The rash over his forehead was similar but there appeared to be tiny puncture marks associated with the rash. The pulse was fast, sitting at around one hundred beats per minute at a resting rate. The most likely explanation was dehydration, so that meant getting as much water into Sheppard as possible, and to try and correct any electrolyte imbalance, which he could do using a oral rehydration solution, as soon as Rodney came back with the mixture.

He checked the inner surface of the lower eyelids, noted they seemed pale. Lymph glands weren't swollen. He signaled to Darius to temporarily halt giving another mug of water to Sheppard.

He leaned himself forward, placed an ear right up against Sheppard's chest in an attempt to hear the heartbeat as clearly as possible, and listen to the pilot breathing. It wouldn't tell him everything he needed, but it might give him some indications.

He listened intently for about thirty seconds and couldn't hear anything untoward. The breathing was clear and the respiration rate was twenty breaths per minute, seemingly confirming that there was the possibility of dehydration or infection. He couldn't do anything about the infection, but if it was dehydration, it was correctable.

That left his primary concern – the fact that Sheppard was confused, disoriented and maybe even hallucinating. He held up a finger in front of Sheppard's face.

"Okay, Colonel, see if you can follow my finger with your eyes. Try not to move your head."

He moved his finger and Carson watched intently. Both eyes were tracking equally, a good sign. Then he moved his finger backwards, tried to check if Sheppard's pupils were reacting as they refocused, but the light in the room wasn't exactly helping.

Sheppard's attention began to wander.

"I'm thirsty."

"Just bare with me for a couple of more minutes and then we can give you some more water."

Sheppard shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "And I'm cold. Where are my clothes anyway?"

"We're getting you some more."

"Can you make sure you get my U2 concert t-shirt?"

"Sorry, Colonel, it's not possible at the moment."

"I really like that shirt."

Carson made sure he continued to smile reassuringly and moved his way down to the end of the bed, picked up Sheppard's left foot. "Well, if we can't find that shirt, we'll try and find something just as good. Press against my hand and try and bend your foot."

On a more positive note, at least Sheppard was trying to follow through on Carson's request. Carson worked his way through testing Sheppard's reflexes, strength and muscle tone and from what he could tell, his motor functions appeared intact. He could respond to commands, and his coordination was improving steadily.

The mental confusion continued to be a concern. He signaled to Darius to start giving Sheppard water again, and decided to quiz Darius.

In the interim, Ronon had quietly positioned himself to one side, ready help out or to hand over anything Carson needed.

"Do all of the Seers act like this?" Carson asked Darius.

"Yes, for some hours after Machine releases them. But they usually become lucid again within a day."

He didn't want to get his hopes up too much, but it was a relief hearing that the condition was only temporary.

That only left the small matter of getting Sheppard cleaned up and settled down for the night. He glanced at his watch.

"Where the hell is Rodney?"

((--))

Rodney was having a flashback to the first time he'd encountered Koyla and the prick had taken a knife to his arm in a successful attempt to get information. Funnily enough, when comparing Koyla to Tibs, Koyla was completely rationale and sane.

"_I told you what would happen if you crossed me_."

It struck Rodney that at this point in time, with this particular lighting, Tibs face bore a strong resemblance to the head of a snake.

The deranged monk had waited until Rodney had left the kitchen, with the mixture requested by Carson and rushed him. Held a long, sharp knife to his ribs and told him about all the things that would happen to him then and there if he didn't cooperate.

McKay had done as he was told, dropped the water, and with shoving from Tibs, been directed to march to the far end of the courtyard. Tibs had directed him to a door, and when they were inside the deserted room, pushed Rodney towards a far wall, and pressed what appeared to be a stone in the large, unused fireplace, while keeping the knife firmly in the gap between Rodney's ribs.

Rodney caught a brief flash of light and the back of the fireplace rolled away. Revealing a tunnel. This was definitely not something the monks could have built. It had to be more advanced technology, possibly Ancient and that would make total sense if the Abbey had been built around Machine. Presumably the entrance had been keyed by an A.T.A gene carrier and could now be used by anyone.

Tibs was poking the knife into his back again, indicating he should stop dawdling and step through, reaching for a bundle of twigs tied to a wooden pole that could be used as a torch on the way. Bending low, Rodney shuffled through into the tunnel, not entirely surprised when it began to light up.

Oh, yeah, it was Ancient. The door had been keyed for use but not the lights.

It did however confuse Tibs. "It has never done this before. Is this sorcery?"

"No, it's just advanced technology. Something you would never wrap your head around Tibs."

Tibs gave him a shove. "Shut up and keep walking."

Mercifully the tunnel gradually expanded in height until McKay could walk upright and it wasn't long before they arrived at a second door. Again, Tibs was able to activate it by pressing what he called a 'stone' and McKay recognized as a door control. Tibs grabbed his arm and dragged him in.

"The only people who have ever known the existence of this room have all been charged with caring for the Seer. Nobody else knows, not even Benevolent Father."

The room was dusty, dirty and contained a vast array of equipment that was either broken or upended. A variety of control chips were scattered over tables and desks. It seemed a long line of the Abbey's occupants had been curious as to their function. Strangely, one table contained a group of instruments that wouldn't have been out of place at a dentist.

A control panel on one wall lit up feebly as Rodney came close. He had no idea what it did, but it was at least something he could work with. Of course, in his excitement, he kept forgetting about Tibs. The local psychopath.

Tibs did not seem pleased with Rodney's distraction. He suddenly rushed him, pummeling a hapless Rodney with the nearest blunt instrument to hand - a metal bar. Rodney automatically brought up an arm to defend himself, and felt like his arm had been fractured but wasn't sure. It was enough to make him want to curl up in pain. He turned to face Tibs and fight him, but the enraged man just kept coming. Desperate, Rodney tried grabbing hold of a hunk of robe on Tibs and moving them both back towards the entrance, but Tibs wasn't falling for it. He squirmed out of Rodney's grasp and smashed the bar across the back of his knees, bringing Rodney crashing to the ground. He then kicked Rodney in the stomach, causing even more pain, and winding McKay hard enough to reduce him to wheezing.

As Rodney struggled to get up, Tibs dragged out a length of rope from a drawer, quickly bound up Rodney's hands and then dragged the man over to an iron ring on the rock wall. From the looks of the workmanship, it had been added long after the Ancients had deserted the planet.

Tibs looped the rope through the iron ring, making sure McKay was well and truly tied up. His hands were tied together, then tied to the iron ring. His ankles where tied together and to make sure he couldn't kick Tibs, the rope had been pulled into the ring as well, effectively forcing him to curl up. He had no way to escape. Not that Rodney could do much except lie there and hope Tibs would just leave him alone.

"Whatever you want, you're not going to get it," said Rodney, trying to sound braver than he felt.

Tibs laughed at that statement and bent down to get closer to the terrified face of McKay. "Stupid man. I do not _want _anything from you. You are here for my amusement."

Tibs rolled up his sleeves, an peaceful expression spreading across his face. "I did not join the Abbey until I was in my mid-twenties. Before that I was in the employment of Desdan Reat. Local warlord. A very effective one, I should say. I was in charge of prisoner interrogation, and making sure people talked for him, when he wanted. Or sometimes I would be asked to make a man die slowly."

Tibs went back to a table, picked up one of the instruments Rodney had seen before. The ones that looked like dental tools. Tibs was holding a pair of pliers.

"Desdan made me join the Abbey so I could gather information about the Seer, kill him if I could. The Seer was the key to the monks gaining control of the world and the war lords were never going to let it happen. The problem was that I enjoyed the Abbey life too much. It was safer. I always had food and I had a bed to sleep in. I decided to stay."

Tibs held the pliers closer to Rodney, so he could get a good look at them.

"Unfortunately, I missed my former profession. The Seers usually provide some opportunities for practice on the more subtle forms of causing pain but I also am not adverse to using those monks that I think no one would miss. Or who annoy me."

Rodney could feel a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.

"You annoy me, Brother McKay. You are stuck up and pompous and you talk. You talk and talk but say nothing. I do not like it when people talk too much."

"You mean like you're doing now?" Rodney couldn't resist. Sure, he'd pay, but he could see why Sheppard enjoyed being able to throw out the noble one-liner every so often. There was a little swell of pride involved in getting cocky, even in a crisis.

Tibs narrowed his eyes. "I like to start by causing the most amount of pain with the least amount of physical damage."

Rodney's eyes went wide as he realized what Tibs was going to do.

Tibs put his hand on Rodney's jaw, started to tug at it.

"Open wide," said Tibs.

((--))

Carson was officially concerned and so was Ronon. Rodney had a lot of annoying habits but taking an excessively long time to perform a simple task was not one of them. 

Darius was getting more nervous about Rodney but he was unwilling to leave Carson and Ronon alone with Sheppard. Finally, Ronon volunteered to investigate.

With Ronon gone, Carson and Darius worked around Sheppard in an uncomfortable silence. Sheppard had dropped off to sleep while they were scrapping off the slime left over from Machine. They just had to get him dressed and into the bed.

Darius kept glancing at Carson, and Carson had no idea why but he thought now would be a good opportunity to try and build up some sort of positive relationship with the monk. The more the monk viewed both Carson and Ronon as friends, the less likely he was to kill them.

He tried to think of a good topic of conversation but couldn't so he started with, "So, Brother Darius, how long had you been a monk?"

((--))

It took Ronon precisely five minutes to find the jug discarded on the ground, surrounded by a damp patch of earth.

It wasn't a good sign. Not a good sign at all. He bent closer to the ground, trying to make out any tracks but it was too dark. He'd have to get torches, if they had any.

He turned, raced the few steps back to the Sheppard's room, already thinking of all the ways that Rodney McKay was in serious trouble.

((--))

Sheppard was feeling good. Not great, not fantastic, not even up to normal, but better than he had been for what seemed like days. Or maybe it really had been days. He wasn't sure. But his muscles had stopped hurting so much, and the funky smell that seemed to be coming out of his clothing had gone along with his clothing. His thought processes were getting clearer and he was beginning to figure out that Someone was actually Carson.

He didn't have much desire to move and signal that he was awake though. The bed was too comfortable, and he was warm at long last, and just sort of drifting along in somnolence, his brain no longer tugging him to places he didn't want to go but over to a state of dreams. He was sitting in the cockpit of an old Iroquois – otherwise known as a Huey - helicopter. A fine piece of machinery that had been retired in 1982 and he'd never had the chance to actually fly one. In this dream he was sitting in there, flying along, and he wasn't in his uniform. The helicopter didn't have guns. The sky was blue and the earth below was nothing but green fields.

"McKay's missing. I think someone took him."

He knew that voice as well. Ronon. Yes, that voice belonged to Ronon.

"Can you find him?" Carson was asking the question.

"I need torches. It's too dark out there to follow his tracks."

"You can have whatever you need. I shall get Brother Ezkal from the kitchen to help you. He should still be awake." That voice wasn't as familiar. The name Darius came to mind but he couldn't be sure.

"I'll stay here with Colonel Sheppard…" There was a moment of silence. "Don't worry Dairus, you can trust me on this. He's safe with me."

Sheppard decided that he was going to have to get out of his helicopter dream. Didn't want to, not really, because it was enjoyable not being the responsible one for a change. He could just lie here, and not have to come up with a plan, or keep everyone else calm. He could just let events unfold as they should, or would.

The little inner voice told him that he could no more lie here and wait for events to unfold than he could stop using his gene to activate Ancient technology. It just happened, that was all there was to it. Besides, this was Rodney. Someone he knew. Someone he regarded as a friend. An annoying friend to be restricted to limited contact, but a friend nonetheless.

He opened his eyes, waited for them to adjust to the light of all the candles and lanterns. Okay, that was a good first step. Next step, sitting up. Well, he was propped up against pillows, so that was sort of sitting up. That just left walking and talking.

"I'm going to help Ronon," he stated. Then he started pulling aside the bed covers. It was then he realized all he had on was some kind of primitive underwear that left little to the imagination.

Carson had pulled up a chair beside the bed. He snapped into action as soon as Sheppard started moving.

"You'll be doing no such thing! Back to bed with you."

Carson was up and out of the chair and pushing Sheppard back into bed. To his chagrin, Sheppard found that he was again lacking in the energy needed to make his point physically. Besides, although his muscles weren't flaring up so much at the touch, they still ached. Enough to make him back away from Carson's touch. Carson won the match easily by simply shoving him back by the shoulders, pulling the sheets and blankets over him and tucking him back in.

"You've had a long day, and I'm not about to let you go gallivanting all over the Abbey. Even if it is to find Rodney."

Sheppard made a weakened effort to get up again, but gave up completely when his arms began shaking from the exertion of trying to push himself away from the pillows.

"I have to help," he said. Trying to plead his case and not exactly sure how he was going to help when he couldn't move.

"Ronon is out there now, trying to get a lead. If anyone can find Rodney, it's Ronon. He's a better tracker than you'll ever be."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Actually, Teyla is a better tracker than you as well."

"You're making my ego shrink," he quipped back, feeling the fuzziness in his brain lift.

Carson grinned happily at his retort and was about to say something else but was interrupted by the entrance of Brother Ezkal. Carrying a large pitcher of water.

"Ronon and Darius came to see me to get torches. I remembered what Novice McKay had asked for, so I made more. Is this correct?"

Sheppard had no idea what Ezkal was talking about but Carson seemed excited. Carson grabbed a clean mug from the table and poured some of the water into the mug, drank a little. "Tastes about right. Is that a honey that you've used for the sweetener?"

"Yes. McKay said it had to be sweet."

"Thank you so much Ezkal. That's wonderful."

Ezkal set the jug down on the table, but hesitated before leaving. "I hear that McKay had disappeared. This is most distressing."

"Don't worry, I'll sure we'll find them."

"That's what we thought when the other monks disappeared. Benevolent Father thought that they were taken by a war lord but we could see no way for this to happen."

"Did you ever find them?"

"No. They were never seen again." Ezkal seemed saddened by the story. "Good night, Carson. I hope the Seer feels better soon."

"Oh, I'm sure he will."

Ezkal turned and left through the door again. Carson poured the liquid and handed it over to Sheppard.

"Okay, Colonel. You need to do me a favor and drink this down."

Sheppard eyed the mug suspiciously. "How bad does this stuff taste?"

"It's fine. Just unusual. Don't gulp."

He did as he was told and Carson was right, it did taste strange. Salty honey wasn't on his usual agenda of taste treats.

As he began to work his way through the contents of the mug, the sound of a gong began to echo through the Abbey. Carson startled, then looked around puzzled by the noise.

"Colonel, do you know what that-"

Carson didn't get a chance to finish his sentence because he'd probably seen the look on Sheppard's face.

Sheppard knew exactly what it was. He'd only needed to hear it once for it to be branded into his mind. The gong was sounding and irrational panic told him that he needed to get away. The inner voice said: r_un, run right now and hide_. _Hide where she can't find you._

He began struggling to get out of bed, all thoughts of his exhaustion gone, adrenaline surging through his veins, providing him with enough momentum to start to move. If he did it now, tried getting away, they wouldn't come for him and put him back in Machine. But where, where was he going to go?

The sound of the gong, low and resonant was making his head swim. He clawed at the sheets, pushing them back. The mug had been dropped in the struggle, spraying him with the sticky mixture. He thought he should tell Carson what was going on but he didn't have the time. He had to get away and God, he wished he had a gun. He needed a gun and if he had a gun he could shoot anyone that tried to take him back to Machine.

"Colonel! Colonel, what's wrong? You need to stay in bed, you're sick."

Carson's voice didn't even register as needing a response. He pushed Carson out of the way, and then frantically scanned for somewhere to hide. The door to the courtyard was as good as any. If he could get out there, maybe there was somewhere else to go, a door that would lead him far away.

Breathing in panicked gasps, he managed to grasp the handle and open the door. It took every ounce of energy that he had and that wasn't much. As the door opened, he had a brief surge of relief.

A relief dashed as he saw that Tibs was standing there, directly in his way. Tibs grinned at him, seemingly deliriously happy. Sheppard didn't think his happiness was as a result of running into Sheppard.

"Machine calls you again. She must like you a great deal."

Sheppard aimed for a punch to Tibs but Tibs easily blocked it. Then Tibs grabbed him by the arm, whirled him back inside, and began dragging him towards the other door, the one that would lead him back to Machine's chambers.

He saw Carson out of the corner of his eye, getting ready to pounce. Okay, if Carson could catch this guy off guard, maybe he could take another crack at Tibs, and punch him enough to knock him out. Maybe.

Carson however, didn't get a chance. Darius was coming back in from the courtyard, and the other monks that had been helping, came in through the door. They were outnumbered.

"I'm not going anywhere near that bitch!" He screamed it. Screamed it out in despair and rage but it came out as a broken whimper because even his voice was betraying him.

Tibs held onto his wrist as if he was a naughty child having a temper tantrum. "Yes, you are, even if we have to carry you out."

Darius had Carson in a corner, out of the way and making sure he didn't interfere.

Tibs kept his promise. Sheppard tried everything he could think of, but he just wasn't up to an intense physical fight.

Tibs and the other monks picked Sheppard up bodily, two of them holding his ankles, someone else holding him under his arms and proceeded to haul him towards the chamber and the only woman in Sheppard's life who actually wanted to be with him all the time.

Sheppard's broken howls of protest could be heard the entire way.

**End of Chapter Eight**.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing. I'm going to catch up and reply to these shortly. Big apologies for the delay in posting. I'm rewriting the ending, so I'm a bit distracted. Heh.  
_

**  
Chapter Nine**

Carson did not appreciate being pinned against a wall by Darius and he sure as hell didn't appreciate the sounds of Sheppard making a pathetic attempt to scream his head off, or that his patient was being manhandled out the door towards God knows what fate.

Doctors were funny like that. They really hated seeing all their hard work being undone.

"Let me go," he said and his brogue was hard and thick. The one he used when he was dealing with some crazed methamphetamine addict in the Edinburgh hospital A&E.

Darius waited for the group to exit and then released Carson, but ensured that Carson stayed where he was.

"Where are they taking him?" Carson demanded.

"Machine calls him," replied Darius and Carson was no further ahead in understanding the situation.

"I want you to take me to him. I need to help the Seer."

"There is nothing you can do when he is inside Machine. It is a waste of time."

Carson was never one to be deterred when it came to getting the best for a patient. "Darius, my job, everything I am, is about helping people when they're sick. And even if I can't cure them, if I can't make them better, I'll damn well sit beside them if for no other reason than to ensure they don't have to go through their pain alone."

Darius seemed to consider his reasoning to be spurious. "We all go through pain alone. There is no one else in pain, only you. All a person can do is bear it."

"Yes, but wouldn't you want someone to be with you? Wouldn't it make the process easier?"

Darius paused, as if he'd never contemplated this question before. After a moment he nodded his head. "Yes. This is true."

"So, take me to him. Even if I can't be inside Machine, at least I might be able to figure out what's going on, and be there for him when he gets out."

Darius took a deep breath and then stepped back. "We will need to ask permission from the Benevolent Father."

((--))

Ronon had proceeded to track Rodney by himself. There were two sets of tracks, and whoever had taken McKay didn't seem to be concerned about covering up any evidence. Then again, the light dusting of earth across the flagstones scattered around the courtyard did make the tracks difficult to see at some points.

He held the torch closer to the ground, determined that the set of footprints went in the direction of a far corner of the courtyard, to a set of buildings that seemed deserted.

Carefully moving beside the prints, he came to a door and wished he had his blaster on him, but the torch would do in a pinch. People tended to back off when someone was waving burning wood in their general direction.

He cautiously pushed the door open, stood to one side to wait for whatever might be in there to make the first move, but there was nothing. No weapons fire, no burly thugs trying to pound on him.

Cheered by the lack of bad guys standing in his way, he entered the room.

Only to find that it was completely deserted, and had been for some time. Cobwebs filled the corners, dust covered the floor. A hearth sat cold, blackened stone the only sign that it had ever been used.

Ronon, however, was not easily swayed by appearances. He peered closely at his surroundings, moving the torch closer to the floor to try and determine what had happened after McKay and his unknown assailant had entered the room.

There were faint tracks in the dust that showed both men moving towards the fireplace. In fact they appeared to lead _into_ the fireplace. Perplexed by the strange behavior of his quarry, he too stepped into the large fireplace, stooping down low. He glanced upwards, vaguely entertaining the notion that they had somehow crawled up the chimney but it was too narrow for an adult male and he could see no signs of hands or feet in the blackened ash clinging to the sides of the stonework and masonry.

That just left the fireplace itself. He turned around in his crouch, looking for clues. There was one stone that caught his attention. While all the other stones had been worn and stained by the heat, there was one stone, tucked into a corner that seemed to be unaffected.

He reached over, experimentally pressed his hand against it. The back of the fireplace began rolling away to one side.

"Huh," he said. "You don't see that every day."

Taking his torch, he ducked his head into the dark tunnel and quickly checked that no one was about to take his head off. Again, the area seemed deserted. The lack of defenses made him suspicious but he would have to deal with the situation when he got to it.

Climbing in the confined space with the torch, the fire blazing at the end, he carefully began shuffling down towards wherever the end was, pleased that he could see fresh sandal prints through the dirt.

_Hang on McKay. I'm coming for you. _

((--))

Benevolent Father had retired to his own bed, troubled by Machine's desire to remain with the Seer for so long, and disappointed in Tibs' pettiness over who should be in control of the Seer's care.

It hadn't been like this with the first Seer that the Benevolent Father had known. A young man from a distant village. They had discovered the replacement Seer quite by accident, when he'd come into the town for supplies for his parent's farm.

The device in the town square had begun to light up and when their informants sent word to the Abbey, Benevolent Father – then a young novice himself – had been sent to fetch their new hope.

The young man's name was Lalm. Lalm had heard of the Seer and Machine and understood the significance of being selected. He agreed to go to the Abbey as long as his parents were informed and taken care of.

They had become friends. All of them. Lalm, himself and Machine. Lalm had served well, and was devoted to the Abbey and Machine. Machine loved him as she did all her Seers. But Lalm had been unable to continue joining with her properly and had died a year later.

As to himself, due to his empathy with both Lalm and Machine, he'd been rapidly promoted up through the various positions within the Abbey, until he had been appointed Benevolent Father.

There had also been a fourth soul. Someone that was always there, lurking in the background, obsequious in his manner, never a direct threat and yet always threatening underneath his carefully placed smiling countenance.

Benevolent Father had never known what to do with Tibs as Tibs also displayed cunning at getting what he wanted. He was always kind to Lalm and Machine. Then, when Desul arrived – a man who had been able to effectively join with Machine – Tibs again demonstrated his devotion to the Seers. Made sure they were taken care of, that Desul was well rested, able to continue his joining with Machine. Tibs was also careful to be respectful around all of them.

Tibs was promoted to primary caregiver to the Seer long before long before the Benevolent Father had climbed the ranks. By the time he reached the ultimate position of authority in the Abbey, Tibs had seen Lalm die and then Desul had lost his mind and it seemed churlish to remove Tibs from the post. After all, there had never been any direct evidence of impropriety. But in his last days, Desul had seemed afraid of Tibs.

Still bothered by the events of the past two days, Benevolent Father said his prayer to the Wise Ones, and began to drift off the sleep.

That's when Machine had begun to sound her desire for yet more contact with the Seer.

He had hastily scrabbled out of bed, put on a robe over his nightshirt and run into the chamber. This wasn't right, wasn't right at all.

"Machine, why do you summon him again?"

She sounded strange, her voice half strangled. "I must have him again. Too many points to calculate and I need the energy to continue."

"You must be careful Machine, this could kill him. Sooner rather than later."

She sounded upset and apologetic. "I know. I know. But I am so close. I realized now that it is the first time I have been able to get so many accurate future points of reference. Because he has created so many past points of outcome, it helps me to calculate future outcomes that are closer to the truth."

"Could you not wait? He needs to recover."

The gentle glow that was always on, because it showed that Machine lived, changed to a brighter light.

"He does not love me, not like the others. I do not want to have years with a Seer who does not love me. I would rather it be done now and he can be released."

The sounds of choked yelling drew his attention. The door burst open and a struggling, unhappy Seer was lugged into the room by Tibs and four other monks. They collectively pushed the Seer towards the center of the chamber.

The Seer stood, shivering, but suddenly quiet. It was as if he'd decided to face the irrevocable last steps of his trip with as much dignity as he could find. Benevolent Father was no healer, but even he could tell that Machine was taking too much from this man.

Machine began the usual process of creating an opening that the Seer would enter. A small amount of her fluid, of her life source, began to flow onto the floor.

He turned back to Machine and found himself in the bizarre position of having to try and plead against the very goal that the entire Order and Abbey was created for.

"Machine, he must be given time to rest. You cannot have him."

"You refuse me?"

He hesitated as he looked at Tibs and the other monks. To refuse Machine was heresy. It was an act that would result in his death, for it was the only crime to for which he could be killed. Cowardice overcame him. He was too used to being in command of all other matters, of wearing comfortable clothes. Facing his own death, his principles deserted him.

"No. I do not refuse you. But you must not keep him for long." As if what he said would make any difference. Machine would do what she wanted.

He tried to convey his sympathies to the Seer, but he could not catch the man's gaze. The Seer was concentrating intently on a spot on the wall behind him.

The other monks stepped forward, along with Tibs, to force the Seer back into Machine but Benevolent Father held up a hand, gesturing they should stay where they were. They all stopped in their tracks, except for Tibs, who had never been impressed with the title of Benevolent Father.

"Tibs, step back. I will help the Seer."

Brother Tibs scowled. "It is not your job to assist the Seer. That is my task."

"It is a task you do well, but I will help the Seer."

He took the arm of the man that, in his former life, had been known as Sheppard. "I am sorry that we must do this."

Seer turned to him and bitterly said, "There's no 'we' about it. I'm doing it all alone. And you're not sorry at all."

The man composed himself again, straightened up even more. Benevolent Father supposed Sheppard could have fought back at that moment, tried to escape but they would easily overpower him, and besides, where would he go?

He grasped the Seer lightly by the arm, started leading him over but it seemed tonight was a night for interruptions.

"Benevolent Father…"

((--))

Ronon had followed the tunnel up to its end, to be confronted by another door. It was open and that had to be a good sign, because kidnappers who were suspicious and careful didn't leave entrances open for just anyone.

The room was dimly lit, with an Ancient console in one corner fitfully trying to get itself working. His eyes had already adjusted to the gloom of the tunnel, so it didn't take him long to spot the slumped figure bound up with ropes and tied to an iron ring hanging from a wall.

"McKay!"

He immediately went to the scientist, holding the torch with one hand, trying to determine if McKay was alive or dead.

The figure moved. The head came up slowly, and Ronon first view was of a face that had been on the receiving end of a fist. Multiple times. Both eyes were swimming with blood, the skin around the eyes a collection of mottled red and blue under the skin, the eyelids half swollen shut, the neck of the robe covered in blood. Blood was drying on McKay's chin from a bleeding nose, and more blood was trickling from the side of his mouth. His left cheek was badly swollen.

McKay, half blinded by the torch, tried to pull himself backwards and managed to whisper out some words. "Don't hurt me."

"It's me. Ronon."

He was relieved when McKay visibly relaxed at the sound of his voice and shifted his head upwards, trying to focus on the face.

"Sorry," rasped out McKay. "Thought you were Tibs."

"Tibs did this to you?"

McKay nodded, not having the energy to engage in conversation. Ronon didn't bother saying another word, but set down the torch and went about untying the rope. It took longer than he expected. Tibs seemed to have been obsessed with ensuring that McKay stood no possibility of ever getting free.

When he untied the last knot, he reached down to help McKay climb to his feet. He needed to get McKay to Carson, make sure he was okay, and then go and deal to Tibs. Taking McKay by the upper arm, he began leading him back towards the entrance.

McKay pulled his arm back. "Wait… Just wait a minute."

"What?"

"I need to see that console."

Ronon didn't let go of his arm entirely. "You're sure?"

McKay paused before answering, spitting a mouthful of blood into the floor. "Sure I'm sure. I don't think there's a lot Carson can do for me right now anyway." Then he winced because talking hurt.

Ronon understood these things, and that it was not the time to insist that McKay do as he was told. The scientist needed to do something, needed to check out the console, and Ronon could more than understand the need to keep active rather than have to sit and think about recent events.

Even though McKay could walk, he kept a firm arm on McKay and guided him over to the console. As they approached the console, the lighting seemed to ramp itself up and the illumination in the room brightened. As they moved, they passed a table. It was then that Ronon caught a glimpse of a variety of the sort of instruments he'd seen in the hands of the Wraith and others. They could be used to cure, but in the wrong hands, they were used to cause pain.

Two teeth, white and shining and smeared with blood were also sitting on the table. One tooth had the roots attached; the other appeared to have been broken in half. He swung his gaze back to McKay as he realized why the man's face was so puffy.

"McKay…"

Rodney held up a finger, stopped him right then and there. "Don't say another word. It can't be fixed. Although my father would be disappointed to learn that the retainer and braces he paid for were a waste of money." He sounded nasally, and blocked, probably due to the blood clots forming in his nose, and almost on the verge of tears.

Ronon was not one to pursue these matters. He could try and provide some sort of comfort to McKay, but it would do little good. Right now, there were more important matters to attend to and McKay's emotional state could be addressed by others. Ronon would do what he did best – provide the physical backup to get the mission completed. He shrugged, and they both went to the console. McKay took a deep breath through his mouth and closed it promptly with the pain of air rushing over his broken tooth. Then he pressed his hands to the panel, tilting his head slightly back so he could clearly see the controls. McKay's touch seemed to encourage the device to come up to full power.

"I'm not sure, but I think we're in some type of lab and I'm presuming that in all likelihood its got a connection to Machine. We're going to stay here until I get some answers."

"Are you sure?"

Ronon watched as McKay wiped a sleeve across his chin, his sight focused on the control panel.

"It's either this and try and figure a way to rescue Sheppard, or face Tibs. I'd rather do this. Tibs can wait."

Thinking about it, Ronon concluded it was an excellent plan. Tibs would get what was coming to him, sooner or later.

((--))

Elizabeth had grown tired of waiting. Even diplomats ran out of patience at times. Lorne had reported again that there was nothing to report.

She had a choice to make. Teyla had joined Elizabeth in her office, having run out of anything to distract her from the lack of progress on the mission and they had discussed going to their next plan. The one that involved far more action. The backup plan that wasn't a good idea, but was better than waiting around to collect the bodies.

"Major Lorne, in your opinion would you judge Ronon and Dr. Beckett to be overdue?"

There was a brief surge of static as Lorne's signal transmitted back through the stargate. "Ma'am as far as I'm concerned, they were overdue the minute they entered the Abby."

"Major, I authorizing the use of the strike force. Is your team ready?'

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Proceed and radio me when you've extracted the team."

"You can count on me Ma'am. Lorne out."

The link was broken and Weir ordered the stargate to be shut down. Her gaze met Teyla's and there didn't seem to be any more to add.

"We will get them back. I am sure of it," said Teyla.

"I hope you're right," she replied. If it went wrong and she wound up with a dead team of marines as well as a dead commanding officer of Atlantis, a dead science expedition team leader, and a dead CMO, she was never going to forgive herself. Neither would Stargate Command.

((--))

Sheppard had decided that he'd temporarily devolved into a girl. That would explain all the previous yelling and screaming when he'd realized he was about to stuck back in Machine. Again. He'd decided, after he'd been unceremoniously hauled down the corridors and then shoved into the chamber that he would just suck it up.

The fact was, after decades in the military, and having been in numerous combat situations, he simply didn't have much of a fear response left. There wasn't any room for it when dealing with keeping his team members alive.

At the back of his mind, where he ignored all the claptrap about 'feelings' and 'emotions', his little inner voice pointed out that the reason he'd freaked out was for just that reason. In Machine there was no team, no one to save, no mission to get everyone home alive and in one piece. It was just _him_. Alone. The mission was to save himself and it was a mission he was hopeless at. He had no idea what to do with endless reruns of his own life. He had no idea how to save himself.

Sheppard had straightened himself up, tried to get some dignity back. The Benevolent Father seemed sympathetic but unwilling to do anything about it. It seemed that despite all the times Sheppard saved others, no one was ever going to be around to save _him_.

Just as he was wallowing in justifiable self pity, Carson stepped into the room. Carson didn't stop for Darius to get permission, he did not kowtow, and he did not even acknowledge Tibs or Benevolent Father. Just headed straight for Sheppard.

Okay, maybe he could ramp down the self pity party. He'd forgotten about Carson. "Carson, have I ever told you that you're very cool?"

Carson smiled. "Not that I recall. Although I do remember the time you called me a haggis eating sheep fucker. It was incredibly rude."

"I had a temperature of one-oh-five and you'd just told a nurse to give me a suppository. What else was I supposed to say?"

God, it was good to have Carson around. Even if it was only temporary.

"Why are you here?" It was Benevolent Father, definitely taken aback by Carson's arrival and seeming indifference to the gravity of the situation. Sheppard decided that it was a part of Carson that was never really acknowledged. The man cried at the drop of a hat, fussed over everyone like a mother hen, and bitched about going off world like an old woman. But when crunch time came, Carson just stepped up to the plate and to hell with anyone standing in his way.

"I've come here because I'm probably the only one on this entire planet with any medical knowledge whatsoever. I'm going to stay here whatever happens and make sure Colonel Sheppard is okay."

Benevolent Father didn't immediately reply, although it did provoke some action from Tibs.

"As I suspected. He knows the Seer. He called him by his name… He comes to take the Seer from us."

Benevolent Father whirled on Tibs. "Be quiet! I will hear no more from you! If you speak again, I will have you thrown out."

Tibs paled and stepped back, bowing slightly. "My apologies."

Sheppard decided that despite his faults, he was warming to Benevolent Father. Benevolent Father opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a wail from Machine.

"Why do you take so long?! I am waiting for the Seer."

Carson raised an eyebrow and Sheppard realized it was the first time he'd heard her talk. Carson bent forward slightly, peered closely at the slow leak of fluids from the pulsating sac that was her body.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to take a closer look at Machine," said Carson.

Benevolent Father hesitated. "You must assure me you mean her no harm. We will kill you where you stand if you hurt her."

Carson shook his head. "I heal. I don't harm. Not intentionally anyway."

Benevolent Father stepped back, allowed Carson to approach Machine. Sheppard couldn't bear the thought of just standing there and not doing a thing, but he didn't like the thought of getting any closer to her voluntarily. He let Carson go forward alone, and just told himself that if Carson got into a corner, he'd be there, watching his back.

Carson crossed to the organic skin and put his hand out to touch her…

((--))

Lorne positioned the jumper over the courtyard entrance, cycled the rear hatch of the jumper open. If anyone was looking up at the time, it would appear that in the black of night, a hole had opened in the sky and men were preparing to leap from the opening.

Rappel ropes unfurled from the back and dropped down. But not to the ground.

There was a ripple of blue across the courtyard, the ropes seemingly coiling onto an invisible surface in mid-air.

Lorne checked the HUD and there it was. A force field. One that hadn't been there before.

There was only one thing to say. "Shit."

((--))

Rodney had activated a feature on the panel. He didn't know what it was but activated it he had. He was pleased as the fact that he was concentrating on the panel distracted him from the blinding pain in his face.

"What'd you do?" Ronon was looking over his shoulder and it was making it hard to concentrate on top of the throbbing pain in his face.

"I don't know right now. Be quiet while I try to see what I did." To his disbelief, Ronon did as he was told and stopped talking. Not that Ronon was exactly verbose.

Rodney had managed to coax some basic instrumentation and diagnostic readouts onto the monitor above the panel. It took some more work with the panel before he was able to determine what he'd manage to do.

"I've activated a force field. It's above the Abbey." He automatically brought his hand to his mouth in an attempt to ensure he didn't breathe in any more cold air. Damn, his mouth seemed to be competing to feel worse than his face in general.

"Force field?"

"Presumably it's there to protect Machine and this lab."

"That means we'll have to go out the front door. Lorne won't be able to extract us via the courtyard."

"Yes, yes, another dent in your carefully executed plan. No surprises there."

"Can you turn it off?"

Rodney pressed some more keys. "No. It doesn't appear to want to turn off."

Ronon scowled, and Rodney ignored him and went back to working on the keys again, managed to call up a different display. "Pay dirt."

"What?"

Rodney traced the information with his finger, distracted himself with the technicolor readout. "Looks like a diagnostic reading on Machine. See, that's her exterior, that's her interior." He pressed keys, managed to swap the views and blow them up. "The interior view shows that no one's inside. The outside view shows the number of people in her vicinity. Okay, this is interesting. Two people are showing with different color tags on this readout."

Ronon had moved in closer again, and was gazing as intently at the screen as Rodney was. Ronon pointed at the person closest to Machine. "He looks like he's touching that thing."

"Yeah, I think you could be right. Okay, what's different? Right, right. Yes, that makes sense. It identifies the people in the room that have the Ancient gene. One has to be Sheppard. The other… Oh, crap."

Ronon finished his thought for him. "Carson."

"Yes. It's probably Carson. Son of a bitch!" Rodney smacked his hand down hard on the side of the console in frustration, then winced as his mouth protested at yet more talking and his face told him that movement in general was bad. He curled over on himself a little, just to work through the pain and found his shoulder suddenly gripped by Ronon.

"McKay, the only way we're going to save Carson or Sheppard is for you to focus and figure out if there's a way we can shut down Machine from here. I'm sorry you're hurting so bad, but it can be fixed later."

Out of the mouth of babes and large Satedan warriors with attitudes. Rodney nodded. "Yeah. You're right. Definitely the way to go."

He went back to concentrating, getting the hang of the indexing system in the console's database and began trying to piece together the information and figure out the original purpose of Machine.

((--))

Carson felt the surface of Machine and thought it felt very much like human skin. Same texture, although wetter and with no immediate signs of sweat glands. He also bent down to examine her fluids in more detail. By the scent and appearance, it wasn't exactly healthy looking. It was entirely possible that her internal biological makeup had changed over time.

She reacted to his touch by glowing intensely. "Who is that?"

"Just me. Carson Beckett."

"You also have the qualities of the Seer."

"If you mean I have the Ancient gene, then aye. I do."

The glow dampened. "There are two of you here?"

"For the moment."

Machine pondered that shocking news for a few seconds. "I need to join with the Seer."

He touched her again, ran his hands along her side and thought her heard a hitch in her voice when she spoke again. "I must calculate. It takes my energy. I must renew my energy."

"So, how do you do that love?" He addressed her as if he as having a conversation with any other patient or friend. For the moment, she was no different.

"I can convert the small quantities of iron in the blood to an energy source. I do not normally need this much."

He had an explanation for Sheppard's elevated heart rate and respiration. He wondered if she'd somehow managed to draw blood out of the veins supplying the spine. "You mustn't take any more blood from him. If you take too much, you could kill him."

She sighed. "I know."

Carson kept his hand on her skin, realizing that she was driven by an objective she could not escape from. "Are you sick?"

"I do not know what that means."

"Do you think what you were like a long time ago and how you are now – is it the same? Do you feel worse?"

"Yes. I feel… Wrong."

He gave her a pat. "I can try and help you."

"I know how to get help. I need the Seer. I have gone to the effort of joining with him, and we must complete this task together."

Carson glanced over to Sheppard, who was still trying to maintain the outward facade of someone going for a trip to the local store, rather than being trapped inside an organic being. Carson had treated Sheppard enough times to detect the small tic in Sheppard's face that said he was feeling anything but brave.

He had no doubts that the monks would force Sheppard into Machine if he didn't willingly go. The Benevolent Father may have had his doubts, but his training and sense of duty were too strong to overcome. Darius was another possibility but he was unlikely to break away from the pack at this point in time. He scanned the group again. Tibs was missing.

He must have slunk away when no one was paying attention and Carson thought that was a good thing. The man was unnervingly creepy.

Well, he refused to stand around for another day, waiting on Sheppard to emerge. He had no doubt that the consequences would be considerable through continued dehydration and the drop in blood volume.

"Machine, I am going in with Seer."

There was a murmur of amazement from the monks. Sheppard stepped forward, shocked. Benevolent Father's mouth was hanging open.

"No! No damn way. Carson, you are _not_ putting yourself at risk for me. You hear me? Don't even think about it."

"You can protest all you like, but I think the CMO outranks Lt. Colonel's when it comes to medical matters."

Machine added her opinion. "I do not know if this is possible. I can only join with one Seer. I do not know what you would be."

"Would you hurt me in anyway?" Carson asked her with as much sincerity as he could muster.

"No. My instruction forbids that I hurt any occupant."

"I wouldn't believe her. She hurt me plenty of times," spat out Sheppard.

"I'm going to take my chances. Let's go," he took his hand off Machine and went to Sheppard to help him through the opening.

He felt Sheppard hesitate, his feet dragging at the prospect. "Don't worry, Colonel. I'm right here with you. You're not doing this alone."

Sheppard didn't reply, just nodded. Carson turned away from Sheppard and back to Benevolent Father.

"Before we go in, I want you to go to the kitchen…"

((--))

Lorne radioed back to Elizabeth to report on the situation. Their brilliant backup plan was thwarted. There was no way to get through the force field with the weapons on a jumper, or even several drones. They'd need the firepower of the Daedalus to even stand a chance and the Daedalus was weeks away. The only choice was a direct route through the entrance of the Abbey. It was backup to the backup plan that was going to attract a lot of attention.

Her voice was professional but the disappointment was clear. "Thank you, Major. Please assume your previous mission status and wait for contact from Ronon and Dr. Beckett."

"Yes, Ma'am."

They went back to their rendezvous point to sit on their hands.

((--))

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you doing?!" Rodney saw two images moving into Machine and he knew that meant both Carson and Sheppard were now in the belly of the beast. "If you volunteered to do that Carson, I am going to kick your butt all the way from here to the infirmary!"

"He can't hear you," said Ronon.

Rodney sagged a bit, told himself that screaming abuse at the panel was a waste of energy. He also had a tendency to do the same when watching movies or a TV show during unchallenging plot points, despite the fact that there was no one involved in the making of the movie or the show in the immediate vicinity.

"Okay, okay. Nobody panic. I just need to get my head around some of this information. Whatever Dr. Frankenstein clone was running this experiment wasn't exactly methodical when it came to categorizing their notes."

"You'll do it. You always do."

He glanced back at Ronon who was casually leaning against the side of the console. "Uh, thanks. I think."

"No problem. Now, get reading and thinking and solving or whatever it is you do with that brain of yours."

Rodney did as he was told, and called up a file that had been marked, "Joining". Thanked God he could still focus his eyes enough to see.

((--))

Carson waded into the muck with Sheppard, holding a jug of his favored oral re-hydration solution. He promptly shuddered at the smell and the feeling of the lukewarm goop forcing its way through the legs of his pants. He understood why Sheppard had told him that he should take his boots off.

Sheppard was standing as close to the sealed entrance as he could. He did not look happy.

"What happens now?" Carson asked.

"Now the shit hits the fan."

Carson cast an eye around the interior of Machine. Brightly lit, he thought her inner surface bore a resemblance to stomach mucosa. Hopefully it didn't extend to actually producing digestive acids, or if it did, not while they were in here. He also noted one or two large pits in the surface, surrounded by a green substance and thought they might be some type of infection.

In the center, a blue light was beginning to grow. Sheppard uncharacteristically turned away and focused his sight on Machine's surface.

"By the way, you look stupid with that jug of water. Really, really stupid," added Sheppard.

"You can thank me later."

"What are you going to do? Stand there for the entire night clutching the damn thing? What if you need to sleep?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll do what needs to be done."

Machine pulsed, the blue light grew stronger. "I will create a place where Carson may sit." There was some movement and the surface around Carson reformed slowly, taking on the appearance of a shelf. The fluid still lapped around his knees, and the seat consisted of reformed flesh, but it was still a surface that he could use to take the weight off his feet.

"Thank you," he said to Machine.

Sheppard seemed to find his response offensive. "Great, you get a seat, and I get my brains cooked. That's hardly fair. You hear me Machine? You're turning into a bigger bitch every time I meet you."

"Believe me; I have no wish to prolong this relationship. But I must finish what was started."

Sheppard looked like he was about to try digging his way out the sides of Machine with his bare hands. "Not if I can help it."

"Lie down," command Machine.

"No."

"Do as I ask."

"Get fucked."

Carson watched as the two personalities raged against each other. This was a side of Sheppard he rarely saw, and it wasn't a side he wanted to see often. This was Sheppard being a pig-headed bastard just for the purpose of pissing off Machine. It gave Carson an insight to what Sheppard must have been like when he'd taken back Atlantis from Koyla. This was not a man to mess with.

Sheppard abruptly lurched backwards, clearly not under his own control. Carson reached out a hand on reflex.

"Do not interfere," said Machine. From the tone of her voice, she meant it. "If you touch him without my permission, you could kill him."

He dropped his hand, because with cold analysis there was nothing he could do. The process was taking place whether he interfered or not and the entire purpose of being here was to make sure they both survived, not get themselves killed.

The pilot was pulled backwards, and then flew onto his back as if he'd been punched. He landed in Machine's fluid, submerged briefly, came up coughing weakly. The blue light increased, bolts of mini lightening arcing out around the Colonel, moving across his body, and then concentrated on his forehead.

Sheppard's body arched, his arms flailed outwards, legs kicked spasmodically, a moan of pain and then he was still.

Carson sat, and watched.

Two hours later he began praying.

((--))

Rodney kept reading. Plowing his way through the texts, putting the strands together, knitting the jigsaw pieces into a coherent picture.

Ronon had occupied himself by gathering up the torture instruments and throwing them into a corner. Rodney had seen Ronon pocket the extracted teeth and figured the big guy must have been laboring under the delusion that they could somehow be put back into his mouth.

He didn't have the heart to tell Ronon that he thought that possibility had passed about an hour ago.

Right about then he read a small paragraph that explained the joining process that caused all the synapses in his brain to light up. He knew what this was. He _knew_.

Following the link from the paragraph, he came upon another file tucked away, not directly referenced in any other way, not even in the main index. He opened it and it was all here. The theory that had started in his mind when he began reading the research was confirmed.

He knew what Machine was.

**End of Chapter Nine**.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Carson could only watch the body of Sheppard being buffeted by the blue energy field and wait for some sign that Machine had finished. It was disconcertingly noisy in Machine. The energy field let out hisses, like steam escaping, and the occasional pop. Sheppard would go through periods of calling out a name, or yelling at something or someone only he could see. Carson noted the movement of the eyes under the lids. Pity he didn't have an EEG unit with him, it might have given him more clues as to the state Machine had put Sheppard in.

At one stage, Sheppard appeared to briefly climb his way back to consciousness but it seemed to be due to some other activity. Carson saw Sheppard shift his left arm. A thin tendril, delicate, snaked across the arm, tasting, looking for the right spot.

This was how she was feeding from him. He saw the tendril wrap around the arm, and gently insinuate itself just under the skin.

"Machine. Are you there?"

"Yes, I am here."

"I told you, you mustn't take any more blood from him. You could kill him."

"This is the last time."

Carson thought fast, as he didn't think it would be the last time at all, unless this session saw her reach a conclusion.

"Why don't you take some blood off me?"

"You are not the Seer; I have not joined with you."

"If you're after the iron content, it won't make a bit of difference now, will it lass?"

She didn't immediately answer. "I will check my instructions."

"Aye, you should do that. And while you do that, do you think you could stop using the Colonel?"

"I am sorry. No. I cannot drop my energy below a certain level, or I can no longer function."

Carson sighed, went back to sitting and waiting. As he sat and waited, he offered up a heartfelt prayer to God to spare Sheppard any more suffering and to please, please let them both get out alive.

((--))

"I know what Machine is," said Rodney.

Ronon stood straight up, going from casual to alert in five seconds flat. "What?"

"She's a battle computer."

"A what?"

Rodney pointed at some of the schematics of Machine. "See. She's meant to join with an operator and from there determine all the possible scenarios that a battle or situation could have gone through, then determine the best course of action for any future scenarios. The Ancients fed her the scenarios. Then, if they had a pilot encounter a Wraith ship, and he survived, they had the pilot go into Machine; Machine would take that memory and process all the ways it could have turned out differently. All the points of the multiverses. Then she'd perfect a strategy for any future encounter with similar parameters. Think of it as the ultimate action reply. The operator, by the way, seemed to have been given the code name of Seer. "

"What's she doing now? There ain't no Wraith around the last time I looked."

"The Ancients abandoned the project. That shouldn't come as a shock since we know the Ancients had about as much staying power as a smoker being forced to run a marathon when it came to experimentation. Seems Machine had a flaw. She wouldn't let the operator out until she'd completed her task. They had two of them die in her before they were able to program her with a routine that forced her to let the operator out if more than twenty-four hours had passed. Sort of a failsafe mechanism. Unfortunately she wasn't as efficient at calculating the future scenarios as they hoped, too many variables. They abandoned the project, put her into sleep mode. She barely used any energy for thousand of years but she must have nearly run down before she was rediscovered."

"She uses blood to keep her power levels up?"

"Actually she uses the ferritin in the same way as most life in two galaxies uses iron. Transportation of oxygen, and basic cell stuff that I never quite understood because I didn't study biology. But basically they seem to have designed her with the basic organic processes to keep herself going. She may have started using blood out of desperation."

McKay studied the console for a moment. "Then again, her measly power supply doesn't explain how this console is operational. There must be a ZPM around here. Maybe they powered the lab and secondary systems from a ZPM or some other power source… But why not put her on the same supply? Maybe they wanted her to run independently…."

Ronon didn't reply. He'd tensed, put his hands to his lips to signal that McKay should be quiet.

There was somebody coming up the tunnel, the footsteps grinding into the sand and dirt weren't hard to hear in the relative quiet of the room. There was only one particular somebody who knew where this place was.

Rodney instinctively backed up against the console, his stomach clenching at the mere thought of having to see the deranged monk again. The pain from his face seemed to magnify in time to the footsteps.

Ronon stepped in front of him, blocking his view. He set his feet shoulder width apart, put his left foot slightly back from his right, so that he was balanced. Reaching over, he grabbed the same metal bar that Tibs had used to pound Rodney into submission.

McKay stood his ground. He thought it was probably because he'd frozen in pure fear.

The footsteps grew closer and Tibs was softly whistling before calling ahead through the door. "McKay, I've come back to pay another visit. Sorry I was gone so long."

Clearly the disembodied voice was meant to begin terrorizing the victim psychologically. Rodney could agree that the technique was effective.

Tibs entered, a huge smile on his face. A smile that promptly faded at seeing an empty space where he'd last left his captive and Ronon holding his favorite metal bar.

Tibs seem undecided on his next move. "What are you doing here?"

"I went looking for McKay. You can guess at how unhappy I was when I found him down here, tied up." Ronon took a big step forward. "Someone beat him up and tortured him. He said it was you."

Tibs shifted his gaze to Rodney, who was trying to get his feet to move so he could run for his life if he needed to. "McKay is a liar. I showed him where this lab was so he could help his friend."

"See how much I believe you."

Tibs seemed to be weighing up exactly how far he could run before Ronon mowed him down. Ronon seemed to have already thought of the same problem and moved to block the doorway, intercepting Tibs before he could escape.

Ronon towered over Tibs, his voice low and dangerous. "I know your type. You want power. You like to hurt people. You like to bully them. But only when it's just you and your victim. In a crowd, you're a weak man. A coward."

It appeared Ronon was giving a speech. It distracted McKay enough that he could get his body motivated to work again.

The speech ended, Ronon reached out and grabbed Tibs by an arm, twisted it up behind his back and marched him over to the iron ring. He grabbed the length of rope still on the ground, tied Tibs up swiftly and efficiently and made sure he was well secured to the iron ring.

Rodney still hadn't moved from the safety of the console, but at least Tibs seemed less of a threat. Just.

Tibs was undaunted by the change in his fortune. "They will come looking for me. They will make you pay."

At that point, Rodney found his voice again. It initially started with a squeak of air, but then he managed to start talking, and couldn't help but note that his voice was shaking.

"No one's going to find you. You told me that you were the only one who knew this lab existed."

Tibs regarded McKay with the same contempt he always did, even though he was currently retrained. "If you untie me, I can show you other areas in the Abbey that would interest you. They also have these devices."

Rodney felt as if he'd gone to war with himself. Those pesky things called emotions were jumbled up and crashing around inside of him, stretching him between anger and despair and hope and depression like so much taffy. There was a reason he went into science, and it wasn't so that he would have too feel much. He liked the joy of discovery and the frustration and thrill of the hunt. He didn't sign up to the expedition to experience the aftermath of torture.

Ronon's face had taken on the serious look. The one he used when it was trouble with a capital 'T'.

"What do you want to do with him?"

"Do with him?" Rodney wasn't too quick on the uptake just at this point in time.

"He's trussed up. You can do what you like," said Ronon with a voice that was disconcertingly calm.

Ah. McKay knew where Ronon was going with this. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. And he felt that. He really did. There was a part of him that thrilled at the idea of Tibs being on the receiving end of the same treatment. It would be simple. It would be easy.

"Have you done anything like this?" He asked Ronon and knew that Ronon would be straight with him.

"Yeah. Once or twice. To people who caused a lot of pain to me or others."

"Did it make you feel any better?"

Ronon shrugged. "It didn't make me feel any worse if that's what you mean. When I finished, I knew they weren't going to hurt anyone, ever again."

It was tempting. Tibs had stopped struggling, seemed resigned to whatever Rodney had in store for him. For some reason, without thinking, he began moving closer. Did he really want to get this close to the monster that had been making his life miserable for these two days? Tibs was every bully he'd ever encountered, rolled up into a neat sadistic package. He wanted to do… Something. Beat him, and with that, all of his demons, all that fear, all that unhappiness.

His fist seemed to curl by itself. There was a moment's of hesitation. Tibs stared up at him, and Rodney wondered why he was hesitating. Did he want Tibs to start begging and that would make it okay?

Tibs did not beg. He just looked up at Rodney, his face wearing an infuriating sneer as if Tibs was daring Rodney to land a punch.

It was that sneer that sent McKay over the edge. A part of him that he never knew existed took over. He drew back his arm, rage incandescent within him, and he drove his fist forward with all his might.

The blow hurt but not nearly as much as all the other bits on his body, so he ignored it. His punch hadn't been well aimed and he'd managed to hit Tibs in the ear. But at least the man had stopped sneering at him. To his satisfaction, Rodney thought he saw a tiny spark of fear.

It was disturbingly satisfying. It made him happy. He wanted to do it again. He _could_ do it again. Ronon wouldn't judge him. He could do it all day until Tibs face was nothing more than a red pulp and the skin on his knuckles were gone. He could use the metal bar, or Tibs' own instruments, and Ronon wouldn't tell anyone. It would be their little secret.

_You're not that guy_.

Never had been. It wasn't a case of forgiving and forgetting. He never forgave and he never forgot. The simple fact was that Rodney McKay did not have, as part of his personality and genetic makeup, anything that would allow him to inflict physical pain on others in this most up close and personal manner. The concept made him squeamish and it felt utterly wrong. There was a big difference between killing with a gun and killing or wounding like this. Guns were remote, impersonal. The death was usually abrupt and quick, if done correctly. It took a whole different breed of person to be able to use their hands to kill a person while that person was looking them straight in the eye.

He blinked, unclenched his fist. "I'm not going to do this."

Ronon folded his arms. "Didn't think you would."

Tibs' sneer was back. "I knew you wouldn't. You're too spineless."

"What do you want to do now?" Ronon asked.

Somewhere in his mind, Tibs had become something else. Maybe a wayward dog, some kind of animal. Not human anyway.

"I need to work out how to interrupt Machine and get Sheppard out. Then we need to get out of this hellhole. For a start, you can gag the bastard so I don't have to hear from him any more."

"No problem," said Ronon. He grabbed the hem of Tibs robe, and began ripping it. "While you work, I'm gonna look for something we can use as weapons."

"Good idea," replied Rodney. Then he turned his back on the enraged Tibs and paid him no more attention.

((--))

Not Mitch was turning into a complete pain the ass. For some reason he and Not Mitch were running around outside the Abbey, P-90s at the ready. Jumpers were providing air support. Monks were providing their version of the trebuchet.

Not Mitch said, "What the fuck are we doing here anyway?"

He didn't know. What was he doing running around with backup in the form of a bloated corpse? "I presume there's a game plan. Can you run?"

Not Mitch glanced down at his legs, fat from the plasma in his blood pooling under his skin, and the muscle beginning to break down. "Sure. Bits might drop off along the way but I can't feel a thing."

"More information than I needed, but thanks for sharing."

The shape of the enemy was taking a more solid form. It was Dren, the original war lord that had kidnapped him in the first place. He was backed by a dark cloud of men that swarmed over the landscape like locusts, consuming everything in their path.

Sheppard wondered what he was supposed to do. Machine answered for him. "This is a future point. Just one of many future point scenarios. The Benevolent Father from long ago asked me to bring peace to his world. The treaties do not work, the war lords and gangs must be eliminated."

"Don't you think that's overly ambitious?"

"That was the question put to me. I must find the answer, the way to victory. There will be a perfect way and I will tell Benevolent Father how to put this way into action in his universe. "

Sheppard glanced at Not Mitch who was rolling what was left of his eyeballs. "Machine, just how many times have you been asked to run tactical scenarios?"

"That is all I run. This world has warred with itself for centuries. I try to provide answers but it seems you are the first Seer that could provide a solution that is adequate."

"Machine, doesn't it strike you as weird that your scenario of winning happens to involve me? You presuming I'm gonna stick around."

"You will remain."

"That's nice and all, but it's a big assumption. You know what they say when you assume?"

"No, Seer."

"It makes an ass out of you and me."

"That's stupid," said Not Mitch.

"Blame my second grade teacher," said Sheppard. He spoke to Machine again. "It also involves the use of jumpers. What makes you think Atlantis is going to cough up jumpers?"

"I calculated all previous points of death. Ran all scenarios. The monks have stored weapons for the great battle but you are the focal point. You will be given more powerful weapons by your people if you ask. They do not want to lose the focal point either."

"I have no idea what you just said," replied Sheppard. Machine was talking in her usual riddles.

"All points intercept with you. No matter where you are, all points intersect with you. You are the Beginning and End. We will run all scenarios."

Not Mitch gave him the thumbs up sign. "Your girlfriend is crazy."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow at Not Mitch. "She's not the only one."

About that time, one of Dren's men fired his rifle, and shot Sheppard through the heart. Sheppard was actually relieved that this was one of the milder deaths he had experienced.

((--))

Rodney continued to work through the information on Machine. He was trying to find out how to put her back into sleep mode. He'd even take an off switch if she had one. Anything that stopped her in her tracks and stopped her from messing with Sheppard any more than she had. Okay, her instructions said that she had to stop at the twenty-four hour mark, but sloppy work meant that she had no time limit for when she could start. She could just cycle straight into another twenty-four period without so much as letting her operator pause for breath if she felt inclined. There was the other problem – they could try and fight their way out with a temporarily deranged Sheppard but the monks worshipped Machine. As long as she could still communicate with them, they'd never get out. If Machine went silent, he thought it would be enough of a shock that leaving would be a lot simpler.

There was also the small matter of the power supply to the lab. He'd managed to locate it at long last. A string of ZPMs. All sitting there, waiting to do their thing. The pain in his face had distracted him too much and he'd managed to get it wrong - the ZPMs were her primary power source. The ferritin was for emergencies. There had been a deliberate disconnect, presumably when the Ancients had sent her into sleep mode. They didn't seem to have factored in the possibility of anyone willingly sitting inside her, and they couldn't bare to kill her because she was a sentient being.

It was up to him to figure out how to shut her up, once and for all. The Ancients may have thought bumping her off was wrong, but he had no such doubts.

"Oh, come on, there has to be a backdoor into this mess of code.

"You talking to me?" Ronon said. He'd left Rodney to get on with his work.

"No. Sorry. I tend to talk to myself when I'm trying to work out a problem. You wouldn't believe the crap base instructions they came up with. I swear to God that Ancients have all the coding finesse of my grandmother."

Ronon shrugged, gave Tibs a kick in the leg just to make sure he was still awake. "I only worry about technology when my blaster doesn't work."

"Fair enough," said Rodney. Then he went back to work. Machine did appear to have a weakness. The schematics showed how she joined with the operator. If the energy link to the Seer was broken abruptly and redirected, the sudden signal lose would cause her to stop processing. Her instructions would force her to cycle into a huge diagnostic routine that ran for more than five hours. Or at least that's what the data seemed to imply, or more to the point about all he could read with his newly adopted pose of tilting his head back and trying to squint. On the good side, even if it was for only five hours, during that entire time she would be incommunicado and for all appearances, dead.

Problem was, he didn't know what effect that would have on the operator.

Crap.

"I might have a problem," he said to Ronon.

"Yeah? What?"

"I think I know how to interrupt Machine. I don't know what it's going to do to Sheppard."

"Would it kill him?"

"I honestly don't know. I don't think so but I don't know if I should take the chance."

"Is there any other way to shut her down?"

"Haven't found any other way."

"Then you should do it. Sheppard will understand. I don't think he'd want to be stuck in there any longer than he had to be."

Rodney grimaced. Yeah, he couldn't imagine it being a great experience. Problem was, if he baked his friend's brain any more than it was, he wasn't sure if Sheppard was going to bounce back. Stuck between a hard place and a rock…

((--))

Carson's first glimmer of hope in four hours was the sight of Sheppard trying to view his surroundings. He'd woken up, his eyes were open but swimming around in his head. He was trying to move and not succeeding. The blue arcs of light that had surrounded Sheppard had faded and then gone.

Carson immediately got to his feet, clutching his prized jug of solution and slopped his way over to the floating form of Sheppard. He knelt down in the muck, found it came up to his chest. Putting an arm behind Sheppard's shoulders, he tried lifting the pilot into a more upright position so that he could get him to drink.

"Colonel Sheppard… John. It's Carson. Can you talk?"

Sheppard's confused gaze met his. He wasn't recognizing anything at this point. Still, recognition didn't matter went it came to the human body's basic instincts. Carson held the jug, growing heavier by the second, and managed to get the lip of the jug against Sheppard's mouth. There was going to be a lot of spillage he thought, but his only concern was making sure that some of it got into Sheppard.

As he predicted, Sheppard was running on instinct. Sheppard opened his mouth, and Carson tilted the jug. The solution started running into the Colonel's mouth and the man just gulped as fast as he could.

Sheppard was definitely dehydrated.

"You need to just hold on, Colonel. We're going to get out of this." How, he didn't have a clue. His encouragement was met with silence except for the sound of Sheppard desperately swallowing water.

Machine started talking again. "I am ready to start again. Carson, you must move back."

"You can't start again so soon. He's not bloody ready!"

"You must move back."

Sheppard was beginning to thrash in Beckett's hold. He was clearly disoriented, and the struggle was instinctive. It wasn't a surprise to Carson. He'd encountered combative patients before. Usually after they were coming up from sedation or anesthesia and they weren't sure where they were.

"John, it's okay. You're safe." This of course, was a complete lie.

"Move away," demanded Machine.

He didn't have much of a choice. She'd activate her blue light show whether he was in the way or not. He gently removed his arm, and waded back to the seat. Machine's fluids had leaked through the material of the robe all the way up to his armpits and it was highly uncomfortable. Like being immersed in congealing aspic.

Machine began her process again, the blue light arcing around, hitting Sheppard squarely in his chest and forehead. Sheppard arched again, tried to cry out but couldn't, presumably because he just didn't have any of his own energy left.

Carson clutched the jug, feeling powerless and tried telling himself that he wasn't the most useless doctor in two galaxies.

((--))

Rodney studied his handiwork and decided that yes, this would do it. He'd stitched in the subroutine, and it was ready to execute. Which it would in about two seconds. He waited.

The subroutine activated.

Tibs began a muffled screaming. The force field deactivated. The console arced once, and then died. The ZPMs booted up to full and promptly started trying to supply power to nothing. Their readout quickly showed an overload building. As soon as she completed her diagnostic routine, his code would reconnect the main supply and send it into Machine, short circuiting her from here to eternity.

Rodney had never been more proud of one tiny subroutine.

((--))

Machine was screaming. It was loud, piercing, and it was shaking Carson's fillings loose. The blue light had abruptly broken off from Sheppard, and arced back up towards the surface of Machine. Carson hadn't wasted any time, and bolted over to Sheppard, grabbing him again to prevent him from sinking.

He desperately tried to think through what was going on. "Machine? Machine, can you hear me?!"

There was no answer, just tormented screams.

He wasn't sure what he should be doing, but it seemed a good move would be hauling Sheppard out from the direct line of the source of the energy beam. He put his hands under Sheppard's armpits and started shoving the semi-conscious man towards the edge. Maybe he could at least get Sheppard out of the muck for a while.

The screaming was getting to Sheppard. He stirred as Carson pushed and pulled him into position by the seat Machine has generously formed.

"Everyone keeps screaming. I wish everyone would stop screaming when they die."

Carson kept pulling, and tried to pretend he wasn't as shaken as he felt. "Aye, it is pretty loud."

Sheppard began thrashing around again, trying to bring his hands to his ears. "Make it stop. Holland keeps screaming, he keeps screaming and I can't help him. He's dying anyway. _Just shut up."_

"Shhhhh. It's okay. No need to worry." Another great lie. Carson was very worried.

The light inside Machine blinked crazily, she gave one last scream and then the lights went out. It was pitch black, as dark as being stuck in a mine. Carson tried not to scream in fright himself, and gathered Sheppard towards him, trying to make sure he didn't accidentally lose contact with the pilot.

Sheppard for the most part came willingly, and curled awkwardly against Carson's side. "My favorite cereal is Fruit Loops. You can eat them straight out of the box."

"That's… nice," replied Carson. He had no idea where Sheppard thought he was.

The darkness continued for an unknown length of time until Machine made an announcement.

"Reset. Begin. Instruction zero."

And with that, the sides of Machine opened up.

((--))

Rodney had done it. Machine was trying to reset herself and that meant she was switching to internal diagnostics. They needed to get to the chamber as fast as possible - except curiosity got the better of him, despite the imminent danger of being blown up. Tibs had screamed when he activated the subroutine. The scientist in him needed to know why but then again, a part of him could already guess.

He gestured to Ronon to remove the gag. Tibs appeared to be shaken by what he'd experienced.

"You tried to join with Machine, didn't you?"

Tibs nodded, a tear beginning to spill out of his eye. "Yes. I asked Machine. She said I had some qualities, not all. But she was desperate. It was before Desul arrived and she was weak. I said I would try because I wanted to know what it was like to be the Seer. I wanted to know what it was like to have all that power. I wanted to know what it was like to have people serve me. No more having to hide in the shadows, trying to entertain myself in secret. I could do whatever I wanted to anyone and no one would say a thing because I'd be the Seer."

"And?"

"She tried to join with me. Called me an abomination. Can you imagine? Her, calling me an abomination. She said I contaminated her with the things in my head."

"She spat you out."

"Yes."

"But there was still a little bit of her in you, a little bit of you in her. It wasn't the end of it. Presumably when she terminated the connection with you, it didn't work correctly. You really did contaminate her, you son of a bitch."

Ronon indicated he'd had enough chit-chat. "Come on. Whatever happened was in the past. It doesn't matter, it can't be undone."

Ronon turned to run, and Rodney moved to join him.

Tibs realized he was about to be abandoned. "What about me?!"

Rodney turned to the pitiful creature writhing in the semi-darkness. "We're leaving you here."

With that, he followed Ronon.

He could hear Tibs screaming his rage all the way out of the tunnel and back into the deserted room.

((--))

Carson had manhandled Sheppard out of the belly of the beast. Not one of the monks had helped him. They were too busy fretting over the lack of a response from Machine.

"Machine? Machine, why do you not answer us?" It was Benevolent Father and he sounded as if his child had died. But he'd also stepped closer to the opening, mesmerized by the prospect of being able to step inside her for the first time. The others also crowded around.

Carson blocked the din out, and concentrated on his patient. He grabbed a wrist, got a rapid pulse, and the same respiration rate of twenty breaths per minute. Being immersed in the goo of Machine had probably accelerated the dehydration process and the solution that Carson had forced into Sheppard hadn't made much of a difference.

He hadn't a clue what to do next. What he needed was the radio headsets in the lining of their coats and there was no way he was leaving Sheppard alone in this room. Then again, Sheppard needed more sophisticated medical help than Carson could possibly give.

Darius dropped down beside him. "Machine has died."

Carson thought denial might be a safe bet. "I don't know what happened to her. All I know is that she stopped what she was doing."

Darius thoughtfully looked over Sheppard, seemed to be considering his options. "If Machine is dead then everything in the Abbey changes."

"I imagine it would," said Carson, distracted and hoping Ronon and Rodney would turn up.

Darius straightened himself up. "If I help you, you must agree to take me with you."

"Take you where?"

"To wherever it is that you live. If Machine is dead, then my place here is in jeopardy. I prefer to make a fresh start."

"You're very pragmatic, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't have survived in this place if I wasn't."

It wasn't like Carson had much of a choice. "I need you to go to the room you assigned to us. There are some devices – they're called radios - in the coat linings. I want you to get them and bring them to me."

Darius didn't acknowledge his request but simply ran off. Leaving Carson with a room full off temporarily bewildered monks and Sheppard, who was muttering under his breath and beginning to shiver from the change in room temperature.

Luckily the chamber had some furnishings in it. Carson got up, went and grabbed a cushion from a chair, ripped down a large tapestry and a set of curtains. Ran back to Sheppard and started covering him up. He slipped the cushion under Sheppard's head. It wasn't going to help with having to lie on a stone floor, but at least his head would be comfortable.

With Sheppard covered up, he sat down and began an anxious wait.

((--))

Rodney and Ronon had run out of the tunnels, through the room, back into the courtyard, taken a short cut through the Seer's room. Rodney was amazed at himself. He was amazed that he had any energy left, or that he could even run considering the pain.

Ronon suddenly stopped and put an arm out to halt Rodney. "We have radios."

"Why didn't you say so?"

"I just did."

"Okay. It's time we called in the cavalry," said Rodney.

"You go grab the radios, I'll get to the chamber, help Carson."

Rodney nodded, not exactly liking the idea of being sidelined but prepared to do what he needed and understanding that in his present condition he was even less useful in a fight. He was turning to leave when Darius headed straight towards them. Ronon intercepted the kid with a punch before Darius had time to go for his knife. Then he hauled him up in a headlock.

"Let me go!"

"Where were you going?"

"Carson asked me to get the…," Darius groped for the right word. "Radios. So he could call for help."

Rodney rapped Darius over the back of the head. He'd been too close to being gutted by the kid to really trust him. "You weren't about to sell us out were you? Maybe sell the radios, or just sell us to someone else?"

"No! Carson said he would take me with you."

"Why would we believe you?"

"Because Carson and the Seer are alone in the room with everyone else. It will not take the monks long to want to make someone pay for harming Machine. There would seem no choice but to trust me."

Rodney signaled that Ronon should let him go and Ronon reluctantly did so. As Darius made off to continue his mission, Rodney felt a warning was in order.

"If you don't come back, Ronon's going to find you and make you pay. He's good at it."

Ronon nodded. "I am."

Darius didn't bother waiting around and took off.

Ronon regarded Rodney with a grudging respect. "I don't believe I'm going to say this, but we actually make a good team."

((--))

Confused monks were not happy monks. Especially when the confusion involved the supposed death of one of the central tenants of their faith. Benevolent Father had waded into Machine, hesitating at first but then with more confidence.

Carson imagined it was like going for a walk through a beached, dead whale.

Carson continued to sit beside Sheppard, ready to get to his feet if they came anywhere near him. He didn't know what he was going to do though. He was a lone Scottish doctor with all the hand-to-hand fighting skills of a marshmallow.

Benevolent Father was climbing out of Machine, his face etched with grief. "There is nothing there. She is gone."

There were murmurings from the monks. All eyes turned to Carson.

"Crap."

((--))

Lorne was drumming out a tune on the console of the jumper. Didn't seem much else to do and it was either that or chew his nails. Behind him, two of the marines were talking about a pretty blond scientist that had shipped in the previous month.

"Hello?"

Lorne stopped drumming. The marines stopped talking. Someone was using the radio headset. It wasn't a voice he recognized.

"Who is this?"

"Darius."

Clearly the mystery caller was big on keeping his conversation to a minimum. "Do you know where Dr. Beckett and Ronon are?"

"Yes."

"You're going to have to give me slightly more than that."

"They are in the chamber. I will tell you how to get there."

"You know, we can find them without any help from you." Lorne called up the HUD and got a position on the radio while the kid kept talking. As an added bonus it seemed the force field had dropped.

He cut radio communication. He didn't need this crap. He was going in with the marines and he was going to get the team out and woe to anyone standing in their way.

((--))

Rodney hit the chamber at full speed, the pain temporarily vanishing and he immediately homed in on the sight of Carson standing alone, fists curled, between Sheppard and the group. They didn't seem ready to charge yet, but they were definitely starting to drift that way. Two monks had drawn their knives. Benevolent Father seemed overcome with grief as he talked to Carson.

"There was no need for cruelty. Machine was kind, she did what she could for us."

"I didn't do a thing."

Rodney didn't bother to stop, just ran all the way up to Carson, Ronon right beside him.

"She's not dead, she's just going through a diagnostic routine." He just didn't bother to mention the whole ZPM overload scenario. No need to panic anyone. Just yet. Right now, he just wanted the monks to stop hassling Sheppard and Carson.

"The Machine lives?"

"Yes. But she won't be back up and running for the day. At least. So you might as well let us go."

There was more muttering, but it seemed that the news had cheered the Benevolent Father up and he didn't seem inclined to kill them any more.

It was still a giant stand-off however.

The two groups stared at each other. Sheppard, in what was becoming a habit, picked the wrong time to show that he was still alive.

He sat upright, got a view of a bunch of people standing around and a pair of hairy legs, compliments of Ronon.

"Hey. What's up?"

Rodney turned around to tell Sheppard to shut up, but Carson bet him to it.

"You need to be quiet for me just now. Do you think you could do that, Colonel?"

It was like trying to argue with a child. He just didn't have a clue. The man in question was now trying to stand up. Rodney watched Carson gesturing for Sheppard to remain where he was, while Rodney also kept an eye on the monks. Ronon, as always, kept his focus on one point only. The monks.

"Colonel, just stay there."

"I'm going home."

Crap, he was going to try and walk out of here. The monks had armed themselves. Benevolent Father bypassed the group and went to put an arm around Sheppard's shoulders.

"Machine will be pleased you are well, Seer. When she is back with us, she will be anxious to start again." It seemed Benevolent Father's concern for Sheppard had been overridden by his love for Machine.

Sheppard shrugged him off, the news of Machine penetrating what was left of his cognitive abilities. "I won't go back in there. Never."

"You are joined. Machine loves you."

The pilot found a surge of energy, pushed hard against Benevolent Father. "I'm never going near her again!"

"Now, now, I know it has been difficult for you but I am sure it will get better."

Benevolent Father had Sheppard's wrist and was tugging him over to a chair. Sheppard pulled against him with no strength to fight.

Rodney decided he'd had quite enough of bullies masquerading as good guys and of people with double-standards and zero backbone. He was also pretty sure that Ronon could hold off the other four monks and Carson appeared to have the same idea.

Carson didn't like anyone messing with Sheppard either.

Rodney went up to Benevolent Father and punched him right in the face. This time his aim was better and Rodney got him on the nose. The satisfaction of hearing the Benevolent Father's nose crunch actually outstripped the possibility of breaking his knuckles.

Benevolent Father let go of Sheppard. Sheppard, now in a blind panic ignored Carson and Rodney and made a beeline for the fireplace. He grabbed a poker, went for a far corner, crouching down low, clutching his weapon for all it was worth.

Rodney could understand that. Quite frankly, he was briefly annoyed that he hadn't spotted the poker himself. It could do some damage in the right hands.

Benevolent Father was gushing blood, and he was holding his nose while staining his pretty robes. The monks had given up standing around and now rushed Carson, Rodney and Ronon.

The impending melee was interrupted by the sounds of weapons fire. The doors crashed open, and Lorne and a team of marines took over the room.

"Drop your weapons or we fire!"

No one made a move. Lorne fired a volley of warning shots from the P-90 above their heads.

The knives hit the floor.

"Oh, thank God," said Rodney.

((--))

Sheppard had wedged himself into a corner. There was the sound of weapons fire. Shouting. He was in trouble. But he had his own weapon. He would kill anyone that came near him.

They told him that she loved him, in her own way. He was never going back to her.

Ever.

**End of Chapter Ten**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Voices kept telling him it would be okay. He knew a lie when he heard it.

Someone, not the Someone, but someone (with a small 's') slowly approached him and tried to take his weapon. He struck, all instinct, and was pleased with a howl of pain. That would make them think twice before they tried anything else.

"We need to move. Frost just radioed to say that the jumper's attracting a lot of attention."

"How do you propose we get him out? He's armed, and the sedatives are on the jumper." It was Someone, the guy with the Scottish brogue. Who had a name but he couldn't remember what it was.

"We can tackle him, or I can get someone to run them back. Corporeal Hicks!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Get back to the jumper and grab the Doc's med kit."

"Yes, sir!"

The tallest man of the bunch stepped forward. "I can take him. He's not that strong."

The other guy, Someone, answered him. "Ronon, I'm not having any more people get hurt. As it is, Apone's going to have to have plastic surgery to patch up his hand."

"He's not going to be much of a challenge. I can do this."

_Like hell. Like hell. Like hell._

((--))

"Any suggestions about how we're going to disarm psycho boy?"

"That's not helping, Rodney," said Carson gently as he sized up the condition of Sheppard as best he could. Although it was kind of tough as Sheppard was crouched in a corner, holding the fireplace poker. The poker had an interesting design in that the end was sharpened and it resembled a spear. Sheppard couldn't stand up straight, but it seemed he had just enough get-up-and-go left to run someone through.

His other problem was Rodney. Whose face was a mess. A broken nose at a minimum, and Carson was concerned about the state of Rodney's eyes, considering the swelling. Also rather disturbingly, Rodney was coiled tighter than a spring. Rodney wasn't exactly the calmest person even at the best of times but this version of Rodney was just about ready to bounce off the walls. Carson put it down to a combination of stress, shock, pain and adrenaline. Unfortunately a more thorough examination of Rodney's injuries was going to have to wait until they got to a jumper. The fact that he could walk and talk would have to do for now.

Lorne and another marine had tied the other monks with plastic cuffs, including Benevolent Father but there was a still an urgent need to vacate the area. Carson could more than understand Rodney's anxiety about getting out as fast as possible.

He hoped Hicks didn't take too long to get back with the kit.

"Instruction zero executed."

Rodney whirled around in alarm at the sound of the voice, as did Carson.

"Rodney, I thought you said she'd take a day to run her diagnostics," said Carson, trying to keep his tone even in case the scientist took at as an insult.

"A day, five hours minimum."

"It's hardly been five hours," said Carson, again trying to keep his tone even. He'd been inside her and he was in no mood to have to sit in that miniature version of hell all over again. A paranoid part of him was telling him that even though the immediate threat was neutralized, Machine would find a way to get what she wanted.

"Okay, the five hours may have been an optimistic estimate. The data wasn't clear."

"Instruction One begin. Power up sequence initiates in thirty minutes."

Rodney and Carson both simultaneously checked their watches. Rodney turned back to Carson. "If it's any consolation we now know exactly how much time we have. Thirty minutes."

"Rodney, what exactly do you think she's going to do when she powers up?"

"She just go back to doing what she's always done. Except for the little problem of the overload I set up in the ZPMs with my subroutine."

"You're telling me she's going to blow up?"

"Machine? No, she'll just die. I think the facility under us might be problematic though. The power surge isn't going to be pretty."

"So, we're all going to blow up in half an hour?"

"Give or take a minute, yes," said Rodney. For some reason Rodney didn't seem particularly concerned, and that was another reason for Carson to be concerned.

"Power level at point one." Machine announced in a completely deadened tone.

Sheppard's line of sight was fixated on the being that was Machine and he'd clearly decided that he wasn't going to wait around for the thirty minutes to pass. He was using the wall to haul himself upright, using one hand to keep hold of the poker.

"I won't go back," he said. His whole body was shaking and his tone said if it came down to it, he'd take a real death over another round with Machine.

Carson took a chance, hoped that somehow Sheppard would recognize him as a friendly face.

"John… We're going to leave now and we're going back to Atlantis. You're coming with us."

Sheppard didn't lose his grasp on his metal safety blanket but he did seem to be processing the words Carson had spoken.

"I'm not going back?"

"No. We're not letting that happen. You can trust us."

Sheppard wasn't letting go of his weapon and Carson let it go. As long as he came with them, they could worry about it when they got to the jumper.

"Come on, just take a step forward."

Sheppard did as Carson asked. Took a tentative step forward. Still looking spooked. Carson didn't blame him.

"Power up sequence point two. Begin core purge."

Sheppard nearly jumped out of his skin, his respiration rate driving up even further. The only positive benefit was that he seemed to have reevaluated how much of a threat Carson and the others were when compared with Machine.

"I want to leave."

"You've got it." Carson caught Rodney's attention. "Rodney, can you make it? Need any help?"

"Not unless you can offer me drugs and as you can't, then no."

Carson offered Rodney an encouraging smile. "If it's any consolation, once we're back at Atlantis I'll make sure you get the good stuff."

"Oh, that's comforting. I'll just put up with my throbbing face a while longer."

The group departed - two of the marines on point, Lorne covering their backs. Lorne handed over his Glock 19 to Ronon and some plastic cuffs, just in case. Carson in the interim just wished they had a backboard, or a gurney. Something they could use to carry Sheppard. The pilot looked like he was about to keel over any minute, but he was still clinging to his miniature spear for all it was worth.

Ronon and Rodney led them back through the corridors, towards the Seer's room for an exit into the courtyard. As the approached the doors, Sheppard balked.

"You said I wasn't going back. Why are we here?" He was angry.

Carson realized that Sheppard associated the room with Machine. He left Machine, came here, and then went back to Machine. He reassured Sheppard again. "We have to go through this room to get to the jumper. Then we're gone."

Sheppard took two steps back. "I don't think so. Uh uh. No way. I'm not crazy."

The group had stopped, waiting for Sheppard to move forward.

"Doc… If he's not going to go willingly…," said Lorne.

Sheppard spared Lorne a glance that said if Lorne came towards him, Lorne was going to be run through and made into a kebab.

The sounds of running interrupted them all. Hicks arrived, coming up behind them, with no med-kit and bad news.

"We gotta go now. The monks are breaking out a bunch of weapons and we've got a whole bunch of angry men in brown robes getting ready to try and shoot the jumper. Taylor's moved the jumper to a new position by the gate."

Rodney's face was too bruised to offer his usual sarcastic expression but he did manage to say, "You mean the fortified gate, with the guards? _That_ gate?"

Hicks shrugged. "Nowhere else to go that's got any open ground."

Lorne interrupted. "It's a good call and I don't know about everyone else but if we have to hit the gate with a drone to get this team out, that's fine by me."

"Me too," chimed in Sheppard. Although exactly what he was agreeing to, no one was sure.

With Hicks and Ronon in the lead, they ran back through the corridors towards the entrance and their only way out.

((--))

Okay, waiting time over. She'd waited through Plan A and through Plan B and having been informed that Plan B had run into problems, she'd ordered Plan C. Plan C involved backup jumpers, and Teyla.

"I will ensure they make it back to Atlantis, Elizabeth."

Teyla was dressed in BDUs, a squad of marines behind her. There were two other squads stationed in the Gateroom. She may have been tiny compared to the hulking sea of black tactical vests, helmets, and combat boots but absolutely no one in the room would have dared to suggest she was less of a fighter, or a liability.

Fact was, she could kick their asses. Every single one of them.

"I'm giving you command of this mission. Bring them back safely," Elizabeth said.

"Of course," replied Teyla with a slight smile. Then she turned and with the squad, exited Elizabeth's office and headed for the jumper bay.

((--))

He was running. Didn't know why, didn't know where. He knew he was running from the bad guys, or an all around bad person, and he knew he was running with a bunch of people who were probably the good guys. Or at least they weren't the bad guys and in his current state of confusion, that was enough for him.

Problem was, he was tired. Really tired. And running was proving to be a challenge he'd never previously experienced. He seemed to recall that he was fitter than this. Simply running down a bunch of corridors shouldn't have even made him break a sweat.

He could feel himself struggling for breath and his body began to force him to slow down.

The man trailing behind him, Someone, who clearly wasn't so good at the running thing, caught up with him. Someone however, was not out of breath. The other guy, the one with the busted nose and the black eyes wasn't looking so hot either.

"John? How are you feeling?"

He didn't get a chance to reply as the man grabbed his wrist and felt for the pulse. He tried to get his wrist back, the touch setting off a small brush fire of pain in his arm, but the man just held on. Then he made a 'tsk' sound at the result and signaled to the others. The really tall guy and the man named Sheppard thought might be called Lorne came over.

"He's in no condition to deal with this level of physical exertion. His pulse rate is through the roof. How long before we reach the jumper?"

"Ten minutes. Top," replied Lorne. "At a run."

The tall guy eyed them up, clearly trying to think through some solutions. "I'll pace Sheppard, make sure he gets to the jumper."

Someone turned his attention to the guy whose face had been pounded on. "Rodney, do you think you can last for another two minutes?"

"No. My face hurts every time I move. But if it's a choice between certain death and the pain then I guess I can put up with it for a bit longer."

Someone patted the man named Rodney on the arm. "Good man, Rodney. Like I said before, there's a big dose of painkillers waiting when you get in the jumper."

"Kudos to the pharmaceutical industry."

Lorne took Rodney's arm and got him between two of the marines. Also in the pack was the man who'd been skewered by Sheppard. Sheppard vaguely recognized him from the encounter and also because the flow of blood from his hand had been partially staunched by a makeshift bandage made from one of the wall hangings in the chamber.

Sheppard thought he should apologize to the man, because he clearly wasn't on the side of the people who'd been baking Sheppard's brain but before his sluggish brain could put the concept into action, the first group was moving away.

That left him, the Really Tall Guy and Someone.

He was flanked on both sides and Someone said, "Okay, just take it at your own pace, Colonel. No need to hurry."

Was this guy kidding? "I thought we were in danger of, well, of something. Knowing me, it's probably dying."

The Really Tall Guy and Someone didn't say anything but their expression said that his statement had probably been true.

They set off at nothing more than a slightly fast walk, and he tried, he really did, to pick up the pace, but every time he did, his body refused to work.

He was a man used to pushing the physical limits and he'd been trained to ignore any and all pain to reach an objective. The sheer exhaustion and mind blowing tiredness just struck him as completely wrong.

((--))

Rodney was being forced to run again and he didn't like it because he was running with a face rearranged courtesy of Tibs. Every time a knee came up, his face throbbed. Knee came down. Face throb. Foot hit cobblestones. Throb. Other foot hit cobblestones. Throb. Basically it was just one endless spasm of pain.

Lorne was trying to encourage him to keep up the pace. "Come on, McKay. You're doing fine. Not much more to go."

Anyone who'd done an aerobic workout knew that 'not much more to go' really meant 'sixty more seconds of breathing like an asthmatic'.

He didn't know what was going to happen when Machine powered up for certain, but he hoped it took her and the whole damn Abbey with it. Then he'd be happy.

He vowed to himself that he was going to spend at least four days back on Atlantis bitching about the experience to everyone, whether they wanted to listen or not.

McKay had enough time to ponder his first victim in the whining stakes, when something exploded.

((--))

The explosion rocked the structure as Carson, Ronon and Sheppard covered off the remaining distance to the jumper. Ronon staggered, temporarily caught off balance before recovering and putting out a hand to steady Sheppard. Sheppard winced, unable to hide how much being touched hurt him.

"What the hell was that?" Carson was concerned. "It's not Machine about to blow up, is it?"

"Probably the jumper hitting the gate with a drone. We should hurry." Ronon decided to err on underplaying his response because basically explosions were never good and meant that either someone was trying to get out or maybe someone was trying to get in. Either way it would cause problems as a blown gate meant a clear path for the war lords back into the Abbey.

It was going to get ugly.

((--))

Teyla's plan was to simply go in with the jumpers, and if someone was in their way - well, she'd make sure they weren't any more.

Something about the planet had irritated her and she rarely got irritated about much, having long ago learned to simply move on and let go of the past. The interminable hostage situation with the war lords at the gate, and the kidnapping of McKay and Sheppard had seen her normally compassionate side vanish. She wanted Sheppard and McKay back, and that was all there was too it. If every denizen within a twenty kilometer radius wanted to come here and fight, then they were more than welcome as long as it didn't interfere with her rescue plans.

When the three jumpers exited the stargate, uncloaked, and headed straight for the city, she figured it would attract the attention of everyone in the area. That suited her just fine. War lords converging on the area would make it tricky but it would be a distraction. If they were fighting each other, they wouldn't be fighting with the marines.

They called up the HUD to check the situation. The first jumper had already attracted its fair share of attention. It was hovering before the well fortified gate to the Abbey, the pilot clearly lining up for a good shot. The gate had only been partially blown apart. Behind the hovering jumper, a small crowd was already gathering, as well as a number of armed men on the local version of a horse. Behind the gates, monks ran, directionless, all clutching a variety of weapons, all looking like they could do some damage, whether deliberately or accidentally. Another group of monks were in the process of trying to assemble much bigger weapons out of parts being toted around by yet more monks.

"Jumper twelve, this is Teyla Emmagan on Jumper One. What is your status?"

"Jumper One, our status is relieved now that we've heard your voice. We're just about to use a drone to blow the Abbey gate and then land and get the rest of the team boarded. With you as cover it's going to make life a lot easier."

"We shall rendezvous with you in less than a minute. Teyla, out."

"Just follow the pretty lights. Weirzbowski, out."

Ten seconds later, a fireball went into the sky.

((--))

Carson was hugely relieved to see daylight. The door to the small outer area that would lead to the Abbey gate was open, the smell of smoke drifting through.

He was supporting Sheppard by one arm, Ronon had the other. They were caught between trying to keep Sheppard going, and knowing that the pressure of their hands was causing him pain. Sheppard had refused to let go of the makeshift spear even then, so they'd just let him keep his grip on it with his right hand.

If they could just make it to the jumper in one piece, he'd be a very happy man.

"Power up sequence completed. Initiation complete. Recommence simulation sequences for solution protocols."

Where the hell was that coming from?

Carson looked around, but couldn't see any obvious speakers. However, Machine's voice could be heard as clear as day.

He felt a tug – Sheppard was trying to make himself move faster. No guesses as to why.

"Request the Seer for continued operations."

That particular request brought Sheppard to a grinding halt. He looked behind him, seemingly expecting her to be right there with them.

"Request the Seer for continued operations."

And now the sound of a gong, or bell, or whatever, was echoing through the entire Abbey.

Sheppard tugged his arms free from both of them, backed up, all wariness. The poker-that-had-become-a spear was being repositioned into stabbing mode.

"Either of you come anywhere near me, I'm going to kill you both."

"Colonel, we don't have time for this. We're nearly to the jumper," said Carson. Apparently, he didn't sound convincing enough because Sheppard was backing up, both hands on the poker, the business end pointed towards them. He may have been completely loopy, but he still possessed killer instincts from years of training at his disposal.

Carson tried again, keeping his voice calm and low. "Colonel, I can understand why you wouldn't want to come with us but for your own safety-"

He didn't get a chance to finish because Ronon went from standing still to a full speed run in under a second and simply hurled himself into the side of Sheppard before Sheppard had time to react.

Sheppard hit the floor with a resounding thud, Ronon on top of him and Ronon simply wrestled the poker/spear from Sheppard's hands and threw it out of range.

"Ronon! What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

Ronon backed off Sheppard enough to help the stunned man to his feet. "I thought I would disarm him and he was too weak to put up much of a fight. Looks like I was right."

Sheppard struggled within Ronan's grip but failed to get anywhere. The entire adventure had taken far too much energy from a reserve that was running on empty.

It was right around then that Sheppard's knees buckled. Ronon quickly grabbed him, making sure he didn't fall and Carson slid into position on the other side, got an arm around Sheppard's waist.

"Let's go. I'm sick of this place," said Ronon.

"_Seer?_ _Report. Report now._" Machine sounded as if she was verging on hysteria.

Carson and Ronon began moving forward, pretty much hauling Sheppard along with them. Disturbingly, he seemed increasingly distracted and unsurprisingly, in pain. He winced, threw his head back.

"John? What's wrong?" Carson's concern level was mounting and it was high to begin with.

The pilot didn't answer him, just let out a groan, and shut both his eyes. Ronon glanced over at Carson, also concerned.

"Doc, if you can pick up the pace on your side, that would be a great idea," suggested Ronon.

"Noted," replied Carson. He began putting more in effort into dragging the almost dead weight of Sheppard with them.

Sheppard's eyes abruptly opened, and he tried to stop. "I have to go back. Machine calls me."

"What? No," said Ronon.

"Machine requires assistance. Reset required." Sheppard intoned in a voice that sounded like the male equivalent of Machine.

"What the hell is wrong with him, Doc?" Ronon was trying to keep the momentum going but Sheppard was struggling again. He wasn't winning but he was making it damn hard for them to keep going.

"I don't know. Some sort of connection with Machine perhaps? Just keep him moving."

Sheppard pulled back against them again, digging in his heels, leaning back like a child trying to run off from his parents. "Cannot verify solution. Confirm cessation of all activity."

Ronon tugged back. "Come on! We don't have the time."

"Solution terminated mid-point. Confirm cessation of all activity." Sheppard stopped talking. Breathed hard. Seemed to come back to who he was. "Machine needs me. She's going to die."

Carson decided that he'd had enough. They had to get back to the jumper and the time for niceties had probably past. Machine had powered up, and according to Rodney, right about now, a bunch of ZPMS were getting ready to blow the whole place to smithereens. Upon reflection, Ronon had the right idea.

"Ronon, how many cuffs have you got?" He tried to hold the conversation with Ronon while Sheppard continued to try and get out of their grasp, his strength ratio the equivalent of a feisty kitten.

"Lorne gave me six. You planning what I think you're planning?"

"You think you can carry him?"

"Sure. I've done it a couple of times when he was out." Ronon handed two cuffs over to Carson. "You cuff him, I'll hold him."

Sheppard was no fool. He had heard the entire conversation. He changed tactics, moved towards them, feigning a hit to Carson, which Ronon neatly intercepted.

Ronon efficiently grabbed both of Sheppard's arms, placing them behind his back, while Carson put on the cuffs. That just left the feet. Ronon didn't even hesitate but bodily picked Sheppard up and threw him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. Sheppard tried kicking Ronon. Ronon put his forearm behind Sheppard's knees, effectively locking them down enough not to do any damage.

Carson moved in and with a bit of struggling and holding of one foot, he looped the cuff around the ankle and then held the other and tied them both together.

"Okay, Ronon, he's secure."

"Put me down!" Sheppard was not happy.

"When we get to the jumper. Until then, you're coming along on the ride whether you like it or not, lad."

They turned and started back towards the jumper. As they do so Machine began to wail.

((--))

Rodney was aboard the jumper, seated in the back while two marines stood at the entrance holding P-90s, along with Lorne. A couple of monks had tried giving them grief but the marines had shot them where the stood. One of the jumpers sent by Atlantis had landed and a squad of marines were providing backup and Lorne had the shield up just to be safe.

As the hordes on the outside of the town were gathering courage to storm the place, it didn't seem that they would be that safe for much longer.

Then again, all he really cared about was that his face continued to throb and seemed to be hurting even more, now that he'd had a chance to relax slightly. He also noticed that his eyelids had swollen up so much that his field of vision was extremely limited. Rodney McKay would be of little use in this fight.

"They're coming! Lower the shield!"

Rodney tipped his head back to try and see more clearly. Ronon and Carson were half running towards them, Ronon finding it hard under the dead weight on his back. One Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, slung over his right shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

A fairly active sack of potatoes who kept screaming, "She needs me! Put me down!"

On a positive note, Rodney was sure he no longer held the record for least dignified entrance into a jumper or Atlantis. His encounter with the arrow in his butt having been the winner for nearly a year. With any luck being lugged on board by team mates while cuffed and completely insane and trying to get back to the very thing that had caused the insanity in the first place would easily displace his arrow humiliation.

Ronon lowered Sheppard none to gently onto the bench in the back of the jumper, while Lorne cycled the hatch closed.

They were airborne before Carson had the time to get the med kit out of its compartment. The other three jumpers also cleared and flew with them in formation.

As they pulled away, Sheppard's pleas began changing in nature. They weren't quite as amusing any more. It was less about the wording and more about whimpering.

Shit. What the hell had the bitch example of Ancient technology done to him?

"You'd better come and see this." It was Weirzbowski, the pilot. "All of you."

Rodney managed to haul himself to the front, along with Ronon, and Lorne. Beckett stayed in back with Sheppard, trying to get him to calm down.

Rodney looked down at the Abbey and noticed something disturbing. The ground was buckling underneath it. Openings, fissures rocking the place, crumbling where it stood. It was bending in on itself, as if a giant energy field could no longer be contained. The jumper bucked, caught in an eddy that blew up from the surface.

In the back of the jumper, Sheppard was screaming in earnest, his voice rasping and harsh. "There is no solution! There is no solution! _I have been for nothing_."

Rodney heard Carson over the top of the screams. "Colonel, it's alright. I'm just going to sedate you. It'll be fine." Carson was trying to draw up a syringe but having to concentrate as Weirzbowski tried guiding the jumper clear.

The ground beneath the Abbey gave way. Monks ran here and there, some got away, some were pulled into the ground as it went.

For a brief moment, Rodney had a view of a vista that made his heart almost stop. Machine. The rest of Machine. Another whole tier of diseased, throbbing organism. Then the parts under Machine. The labs, a long disused jumper, and corridors, and halls and the room where he had left Tibs and for a second he thought he saw Tibs there. The whole place opened up like an architectural diagram and then - it was fracturing apart in a blaze of light.

"Everyone hold on!"

He didn't know who'd said it, but hold on he did. The jumper rocked around in the sky, Weirzbowski fighting to keep it level. Lorne managed to get into the co-pilots chair and help him stabilize the craft.

The light went quickly and all that Rodney could see when the light faded was nothing. Nothing left at all but a big hole in the ground. The town around it was mostly gone as well.

Rodney let out a sigh of relief and turned around to head into the back of the cockpit. Stopped in shock.

Sheppard was curled up on his side, still cuffed, and he was crying.

"I have been for nothing."

((--))

The ride through the stargate was rapid, as always. They were back in Atlantis before they could blink and Carson had always found the sensation slightly disconcerting. One second they were in danger of being sucked into a whirling vortex created by an insane biological computer and the next it was back to the relative safety of Atlantis. A calm sea breeze, meatloaf from the cafeteria, reports to catch up on. The mundane flotsam of life catching up on them in a few hours.

As soon as they were moving into the bay, Carson hit the radio and ordered up two gurneys. From his basic examination of Rodney in the two-minute trip back to Atlantis, it wasn't hard to spot the amount of damage to Rodney's face. Carson was more than happy to allow the man to be wheeled back to the infirmary and as promised, he gave Rodney some painkillers in the shape of vicodin. Sheppard also needed to be off his feet and avoid the physical exertion.

Sheppard was still curled up, sobbing. Carson didn't really know what he could do. His automatic reaction was to reach out a hand, to try and offer some comfort, but Sheppard's pain receptors were over sensitized and all Sheppard had done was abruptly pull away as if he'd been burnt. Carson also debated about whether he should still administer the sedative, then decided against it. He'd be unable to conduct a neurological examination if the man was out for the count. Instead he went into the kit for a pair of shears and cut off the plastic cuffs from Sheppard's wrists and ankles. The only response he got was Sheppard pulling his hands to the front of his chest, in a protective gesture.

Well, the med team would be here soon enough. Then he could try to figure out what was going on in earnest. Until then, he would just have to continue to hope the effects were temporary.

He didn't even want to contemplate what they would do if the damage was permanent.

((--))

Elizabeth made her way to the infirmary as fast as she could, intercepted by Teyla as she boarded one of the transporters.

"You did a great job," she said to Teyla, her voice thick with the emotion of the moment.

"It was a team effort," replied Teyla, modest as always. "But I am glad I could assist in bringing them back."

"I'm glad too. For all our sakes."

((--))

Rodney was pretty sure he'd feel a whole lot happier, if Sheppard would stop crying. He'd been crying non stop since they wheeled him in, and seemed unable to quit. Dr. Paul was working on Rodney, while Carson tried to assist Sheppard. Paul had expressed concern at the condition of both his eyes, but the pen light didn't reveal any immediate damage and he could focus enough to read, so she'd scheduled him for an exam with the ophthalmologist, stat. She finished putting a butterfly strip over his right eye to close up a cut and then said that after his eye sight was checked, it would be a trip down to the dentist to get his teeth taken care of.

He listened to Dr. Paul reel off the list off all the things he had to have done and he listened to Sheppard in the background, quietly sobbing to himself and Rodney was sure he'd be enjoying the vicodin more if everyone would just go away and leave him alone.

Sheppard's display of emotion was freaking him out. Sheppard didn't do emotions. Mostly he was just one level, with the occasional smile. Crying was definitely not on the agenda. Worse, it just reminded him of all the ways he'd failed Sheppard. Sheppard was in the mess because Rodney hadn't been brave enough to stick up to Tibs. That's what he was telling himself. Shutting up and trying to play by the rules had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. He wasn't sure about that any more. A loud inner voice, wracked by guilt, was screaming at him with the same phrase everyone liked to use when talking to him.

_It's all your fault_.

To add to the Rodney's discomfort, Sheppard hadn't done much, just remained curled on the gurney with tears rolling down his face. Carson had spent a few minutes trying to get Sheppard to respond and determine if he was in any pain. He'd heard Carson mutter to an assistant that it, "Seems a lot like a concussion." Sheppard was unresisting through the process of Carson checking his heart, and lungs, but refused to comply with any requests to follow Carson's finger or flex his feet or hands or answer any questions.

A technician came over, carrying a blood kit.

"I just want you to draw one vial for a CBC once I get the IV in. Get me the hemoglobin level stat," said Carson.

Rodney looked at Carson, vaguely curious. Normally if they came anywhere near sickbay, Carson was ordering up blood work that would have made Vlad the Impaler a happy camper.

"I don't know how much Machine drew out of him. I'm not taking any more than is necessary," said Carson as he began setting up for an IV. Carson called over to one of his nurses, "Get me an 18-guage needle and a saline lock, love. And grab me a bag of Ringer's Lactate."

The nurse did as he asked, and Rodney could only continue to be amazed at the lack of responsiveness in Sheppard.

Dr. Paul broke his attention. "I'm going to get a scan and check you haven't got any fractures. The nose is going to have to be reset but I can't do that until the swelling goes down. That's going to take about four weeks."

"What?! My nose is going to be crooked for four weeks?"

"So, it's temporary. Yes, that's completely right Dr. McKay."

Sarcastic little minx. Rodney tried scowling at her but couldn't pull it off with his face looking and feeling like it was made of putty, and he figured that Beckett had been talking to all of his doctors about how to handle McKay. She handed him a cold pack.

"Put this over your eyes. It'll help with the swelling."

He did as he was told, put the pack over his eyes, and then Dr. Paul closed the curtains between the beds so he couldn't see Sheppard any more, while someone else went and got the scanner.

((--))

Elizabeth was always conflicted about her trips to the infirmary. She was always pleased to have her team back. She was never pleased with whatever she found.

She walked into the infirmary area and found Carson about to get an IV going on Sheppard. He had the needle ready over the back of the left hand and Sheppard seemed not to be taking any notice. Instead, he was lying on his side, staring blankly at a wall. Occasionally he sniffed, but seemed to be unaware of the activity around him.

Carson ignored her entrance, and instead concentrated on the task before him. "Just relax there for a moment. You'll just feel a wee pain in your hand and then it's all over."

Carson placed the needle and the catheter against Sheppard's skin so he could begin inserting it into the vein and that's as far as he got. Sheppard went from inert, to action, even though he shouldn't have been able to. He sat bolt right up, pushed Carson backwards.

"I fucking told you assholes, that if you ever touched me again, I was going to fucking kill you!" With that, he attempted to get off the gurney.

The medical team swiftly moved into action, restraining Sheppard as he attempted to get away. Carson also recovered swiftly, helping in the fray. Carson was once more shouting orders. "Someone draw me up ten milligrams of diazepam and let's see if we can get him to calm down a bit. He's touch sensitive so everyone back off as soon as he looks like he's under."

Sheppard was valiantly still trying to get off the gurney, as four nurses, and Beckett held him down. The syringe was passed to Carson in record time, and Carson aimed for the shoulder muscle and plunged.

The reaction was swift, and disturbingly pathetic. Sheppard reacted to the injection with a yell but then almost abruptly began to calm down. Then he began to speak and Elizabeth thought her heart was going to break.

"I'll be good, I promise. I'll be good. I really will, I'll try real hard. Don't be mad." Sheppard was whispering the words to Carson in a voice that was small and childlike.

Carson seemed unable to respond for a moment. He reached over with a hand, to pat Sheppard on the shoulder, but then thought better of it and put his hand down. "Lad, I'm not mad at you, so don't worry. Nothing's going to happen to you."

"You always say that, Dad, but it's never true."

Carson was at a complete loss for words by that point. He put himself back to his main task, explained it all to Sheppard again, and then finally managed to get an IV started in the dorsal arch on the back of Sheppard's left hand. By the time he'd finished, Sheppard was asleep.

Taking a step back from the gurney, Carson recomposed himself and ordered a scan for Sheppard, as well as getting him bathed and changed.

"Watch him carefully. Any further alteration in his neurological status, get me."

The team nodded, went to work and Carson turned around to take a breath. He finally noticed Elizabeth.

She'd been keeping quiet, trying to observe without getting in the way, and feeling like a voyeur in the process. "Dare I ask what the prognosis is?"

Carson sighed, rubbed a weary hand through his hair. "I can't tell you much right now, except I'm going to proceed as if he's got a concussion and go from there. When I've got the results of the scan and the CBC, I'll know more. Until then, it's anyone's guess. Although he did eventually start to recover after his encounters with Machine."

"You don't think it's permanent, do you?"

"I honestly don't know."

"How's Rodney?"

"Beat up. Fractured nose. Broken teeth. An ophthalmologist is checking his eye sight and the dentist is going to look at the teeth. When they report back to me and I get the results of the scan, I'll let you know."

Elizabeth nodded. "Then they're both on medical leave for quite some time."

"Aye. That they are. That they are."

**End of Chapter 11**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Carson sat in Elizabeth's office, going over his notes to date. He'd run the scans, analyzed the blood work and both of his patients were currently resting.

"Are they giving you any trouble?" Elizabeth asked.

"Not at the moment, they're sleeping like wee lambs."

"What's the results?"

Carson picked up McKay's scan and showed it to Elizabeth. "Rodney's going to be fine, thank goodness. No orbital fractures. No head injuries. His arm is a bruised mess but luckily, no breaks. The ophthalmologist said his eyesight is okay. Unfortunately he's going to need a bit of dental work to fix up his teeth. I'm keeping him in the infirmary for a week, just to make sure he rests, and then I'd like him to be off duty for two weeks until the swelling around his eyes goes down completely. Between the visits to the dentist and the surgery for his nose, he's going to need another week or two on top of that. Let's round it up and make it an even six weeks."

Elizabeth nodded, wrote a note to herself on a piece of paper. "I'll get Zelenka to supervise the teams until Rodney gets back on his feet. Rodney's not going to be happy."

"I'd rather he take it easy this time around."

"What about John?"

Carson sighed, passed her the other scan. "On the good side, the scan shows clean of any major damage. Although rather nastily it's displaying nano sized punctures in his skull and it does indicate at a deeper level that there's been disruption to the synapses. It's almost as if Machine somehow controlled which ones would fire, and which ones wouldn't. With the control gone, they're beginning to recover their normal function, but it's going to take time. The closest analogy I can come to is trancranial magnetic stimulation. It temporarily excites the brain's electrical signals, or it can be used to turn a region of the brain off. Machine appears to have done a similar thing but rather than the effects disappearing immediately, they've lingered."

"Anything else?"

"His hemoglobin count was down to eight. A value of thirteen is considered normal for an adult male. I went for giving him a top up with a liter of whole blood and I'm going to temporarily prescribe some iron supplements. I'm treating him as if he's got a concussion and we'll monitor it from there. Kate's going to help me test his cognitive functions when he's a bit more coherent. The rash on his head is minor, and so are the blood blisters. They'll heal with no help from me, along with the nano punctures. However, I think like Rodney, he's going to be on medical leave for five or six weeks at least."

"Lorne can take over while he's out and I'm sure Colonel Caldwell will be only too pleased to assist."

Carson tried to keep a lid on his sarcasm at the thought. "Caldwell is always pleased when it comes to getting command of Atlantis."

Elizabeth smiled, wrote down some more notes. "Anything else I need to be aware of?"

Carson sighed, shut his laptop. "At this stage I can only monitor the Colonel closely and hope that he begins to show signs of recovery. At the moment he's in bad shape."

((--))

He'd only managed to get vicodin for the day. Then he'd been relegated to ibuprofen with 15mg of codeine to take the edge off. Apparently vicodin was too addictive. Ibuprofen didn't make his face hurt any less and he made sure he complained about his poor treatment with every opportunity he had.

Fact was, if he was complaining about his treatment and talking endlessly about unimportant stuff then he wouldn't have to think or talk about anything else and maybe they would presume he was back to normal and back to normal meant the guilt currently tap dancing around in his brain would go away.

He decided talking and working would keep him from remembering or having to reflect on his experience. Using the infirmary stay of a week to his advantage he'd taken the opportunity to catch up on reading some papers that Jeannie had been publishing since her visit, and he had even managed to write her a letter. Trying to get through a big To Do list that he'd just cooked up in an hour was also a hell of a lot better than having his attentions shifted to Sheppard. It also distracted him from the dental work he'd had to endure. Carl had promptly extracted the rest of the broken tooth so at least he didn't have to put up with exposed nerve endings. He'd been scheduled for some titanium posts in a week, once the bruising in his face went down some more.

Sheppard, as he'd done day in and day out, mostly just stayed in the bed, the back of the bed angled so he was sitting up. Unfortunately he didn't do anything. Just lay there, staring at nothing in particular, except for the occasional rambling outburst that made no sense. Worse, it seemed that his coordination had gone to hell again, and he couldn't even feed himself. Not that Sheppard wasn't a fundamentally stubborn human being and determined to try but he couldn't grip the utensils long enough to get food into his mouth and if by some fluke he did manage to get a spoon to his mouth, only half of the food managed to get arrive with the spoon. For the sake of Sheppard's gown and bed, and for the sake of Sheppard's calorie intake, Carson had decided it was better if, temporarily, the nurses fed Sheppard.

Which one of them was doing right now, and Rodney was studiously ignoring the whole scene. The Sheppard that McKay knew was an intelligent, wise cracking, sarcastic, occasionally grumpy human being and to see him reduced to having someone spoon mash potato mixed with gravy into his mouth was too much. Sheppard's state just made McKay's blaming, guilty voice complain loudly.

The nurse was attempting to load another spoonful into Sheppard but Sheppard had clamped his mouth shut, indicating that he was full. The nurse sized up the plate, nodded at the fact that it was nearly empty. "Not a bad effort." She picked up a glass of water, put a straw in it, made sure he drank and then she picked up a napkin, wiped at Sheppard's face, and left.

Rodney pretended he was typing his letter to Jeannie and didn't see a thing. If it wasn't for the fact the he was sharing the infirmary with the ghost of John Sheppard, he'd be enjoying it a lot more. Much like the vicodin he only had for one day. Sheppard was ruining all the goods bits of post mission recuperation by reminding him of how bad those few days had been.

On cue, Sheppard did the next predictable thing that he'd been doing for the past few days. He promptly went to sleep. That was about the extent of Sheppard's world these days. He slept, then he woke up, stared at nothing, had a rambling one-sided conversation with people that weren't in the room, ate, went back to sleep and then repeated the whole cycle again. Every so often, just for variety, he got an acute migraine that Carson dosed him up for, and then he went back to sleep. Again.

Rodney had finished his letter to Jeannie, and was about to start editing a paper he'd had on the back burner for two months, when Carson and Kate turned up. He turned on a smile for them, feigned chirpiness, and didn't stop typing for a second.

"Hi guys. What's up? Hey, has anyone going to get me that chocolate pudding like I asked? I've been waiting for two-hours. The dentist said it was okay, as long as I was careful." He was rambling and he knew it.

Carson and Kate glanced at each other. Carson put on his own smile. "I can send one of the orderlies for a bowl if you're so keen on the stuff."

Rodney nodded his thanks and turned his attentions to Kate. "Did you come over to see the space cadet?"

"Don't call him that," said Carson, uncharacteristic annoyance in his voice.

"What else should I call him? It's not like he's exactly responsive to anything."

"His brain is recovering from trauma. It might take him a while to come back up to speed."

"Well, if Kate's come here to assess him, she shouldn't bother. Right now, a snail would give him a run for his money."

Kate approached Rodney's bed. "I thought I'd see both of you."

Rodney didn't let the smile leave his face. "Me? I'm fine."

"Are you sure about that, Rodney? You seem a little distracted." Kate made a move to get a chair.

Rodney could see that Kate was preparing to go for the long haul. He wasn't prepared to talk to her just yet. "Oh, hey, well I'm working on some stuff now. You know, important stuff for Atlantis."

"You're not supposed to be working," said Carson. "I gave you strict orders to rest."

"Don't need to rest. Maybe I need to lie down, but it doesn't mean I need to give upstairs a rest." Rodney tapped the side of his head. "Too much to do, and I'm behind already."

Kate settled into the chair, and Rodney felt himself beginning to panic. Luckily around the same time, Sheppard's dream time seemed to get spooky.

Sheppard jerked awake, sat up in his bed, looked around wildly. Then he was out of the bed and standing upright before anyone had a chance to react. Carson and Kate abruptly shifted their focus from Rodney to the Colonel and even though Sheppard looked like he was about to crawl out of his own skin in fright, McKay decided that maybe Sheppard's current blank slate modus operandi had its advantages.

He may have felt guilty, but he wasn't about to talk about his guilt or his encounter with Tibs to anyone on Atlantis for a while. Nobody needed to know that Rodney McKay had proved again how much of a coward he was, or that Ronon had found him curled into a corner, begging not to be hurt.

((--))

Sheppard had never been fond of remembering his dreams, because his dreams were just one big pile of bad most of the time. He preferred the type of sleep that was the equivalent of a coma. No memory, no muss, no fuss. Just go to sleep, and wake up when the alarm went off.

He was back to mushy thinking of late. His brain couldn't process much beyond a single thought when he was conscious, but it seemed that in sleep it sometimes got its game on and went for hyperactivity.

A voice kept calling him. A woman's voice. The voice confused him because it loved and hated him all at the same time. She wouldn't stop talking.

He asked her to stop politely but she wouldn't shut up. She told him about all the ways he made her miserable. Reeled off his many faults. The disembodied voice could have been anyone at that point. His ex-wife, his mother, endless girlfriends, Machine.

"You killed me, Seer."

"I want a divorce."

"You were never there when I needed you."

"I never wanted him."

"Lower your voice, he'll hear," said his father.

"So what? It's the truth. I had him because you insisted. Believe me, if I could have had an abortion, I would have."

"Please, you don't know what you're saying. This isn't you talking. Have you been taking your medication?"

Sheppard put his hands to his ears, squeezed his eyes shut and hoped he could block out the conversation. In much the same way as he had when he'd been a child, lying awake his bed and listening to his mother drive right off the sanity rails.

Crap, it was a wonder he hadn't turned into some misogynistic bastard instead of a guy who was more than a little wary about getting into anything more than the occasional one night stand.

A hand was holding his arm, an act that bothered him less but still caused him to startle. Another voice was talking to him.

"Colonel Sheppard, it's okay."

He risked opening up his eyes, found Carson in front of him, and a woman with blonde hair, off to one side. He took a step back from Carson, hating that he was being touched, and hating that he'd been demonstrating how thoroughly wrecked he was.

He put his hands down, blinked owlishly at Carson and the woman who had a name he couldn't recall, because really, there was no way to appear normal after this episode. Not that anyone was fooling themselves into thinking he was even half way there.

Carson helped him back to bed, and he felt his brain do a kind of internal hiccup and the headache hit him again. God, he just couldn't catch a break. He winced, put a hand to his head automatically, tried to massage his temples. Carson immediately went into action, and pulled a migraine ice pad strip from its pack, promptly stuck it on Sheppard's forehead. Then he went off to get the usual round of diclofenac. Meanwhile the pretty blond woman shifted a chair to his bedside.

Sheppard thought that she was probably going to start talking, because it seemed that was all women were interested in doing when they came anywhere near him. If she started nagging him, he'd have to crawl out of the infirmary.

Surprisingly, she put a hand over his, and she did it in a way that neither alarmed him, nor made his jangled nerves feel like she was trying to burn him. He managed to refocus his attention onto her.

She smiled at him. "You've been through a tough time. You can't expect to get better over night. Just have some patience."

He thought that was pretty decent of her. To be offering support. His brain told him that he hadn't exactly made her life easy. That she'd jokingly called him The Clam more than once.

Pity his brain wasn't up to formulating a sentence. She didn't take this as an insult.

Carson arrived back with the diclofenac, and Sheppard took two as instructed, settled back and closed his eyes. Wished to God he didn't feel like crap all the God damn time.

((--))

McKay's mouth hurt like crazy. Could have been the work to get the posts into the two sockets that were now sans his real teeth. He'd been blissfully ignorant of what he was in for, but not for long. Why he hadn't woken up to the fact that the posts for the fake teeth had to be anchored into his jaw, he'd never know. He'd been given a local, and a sedative, so at the time he didn't care as much as he thought he should have.

Back in the infirmary for the final day of 'rest' and it had been a week and all he could feel was a throbbing ache in his jaw and gums that reminded him of his two days with Tibs. That did not put him in a good mood. Neither did the routine dispensing of the ibuprofen when he really wanted to be knocked into oblivion for a few hours at a minimum.

No one would give him a break. If Sheppard had been more vaguely up to speed he could have taken it out on the pilot but even Rodney couldn't be that cruel. Besides, at the moment, Space Cadet was off having his first attempt at a shower or some such bullshit. He'd been so out of it, they'd been giving him sponge baths so he didn't wind up accidentally drowning himself. On a positive note though, Sheppard seemed to have perked up over the past couple of days. He was slightly more alert, and able to stay awake a little longer. That didn't mean he was back to being Sheppard, just that he was less like an approximation of a bewildered child.

He'd started to resent Sheppard for remaining so helpless and that was wrong and that was just one more thing to add to his pile of internal crap. Problem was, he was getting better in a crisis, but post-crisis he floundered. Sheppard – the Sheppard he knew pre-Machine – seemed to snap back as soon as he got into Atlantis. The walls came down, the incident was compartmentalized and he would never speak of it again. Rodney wasn't good at the compartmentalizing and consequently he turned to more desperate measures, like bitterly resenting the one person he'd spent two days trying to save.

With no one to annoy and vaguely relieved at not having to put up with Sheppard calling him Mitch, or Dex, or Holland, he went back to distracting himself by playing Solitaire on his laptop. He was dressed in sweats, and a t-shirt and was lying on top of the bed, thinking it wasn't going to be much difference when he got back to his quarters. He'd just have no one to complain to about it and no one to make his bed or bring him his meals.

"Hey, McKay. Thought we'd pay you and Sheppard a visit."

He looked up at the sound of the voice. Ronon and Teyla. Visitors were good. They were yet another distraction and they didn't ask too many questions. Ronon and Teyla had turned up regularly and he'd used their visits to temporarily practice the art of not thinking about anything else except the mundane. He opened his mouth, Ronon interrupted him.

"You're not going to start talking endlessly about your cat again are you?"

Rodney shut his mouth again, because he was going to talk about his cat. Then he opened it again to express his displeasure and tell a lie. "No I wasn't going to talk about my cat. What's it to you anyway? If you didn't like looking at the photos of my cat, you and Teyla shouldn't have sat here for an hour."

Teyla had nudged Ronon in the ribs. "He seemed a very nice cat."

"Seemed a bit useless to me. I mean, it doesn't even do tricks," said Ronon.

"They're not there to do tricks. They're companion animals," replied Rodney.

"Seems useless to keep an animal that just eats and sleeps and doesn't do any work." Ronon it seemed, did not see the point of cats.

"Why is this not a surprise? I imagine you classify the animal kingdom into two parts. The first part is anything that couldn't run away fast enough and that you can eat. The second part is everything else."

Ronon raised an eyebrow at him but decided not to reply. Teyla nudged Ronon again and then seemed to make a planned exit.

"I have a meeting with Dr. Weir. Ronon, why don't you stay here for a while and keep the Colonel and Dr. McKay company?"

Ronon nodded and Teyla made a hasty exit. That just left Rodney and Ronon staring at each other.

Ronon didn't hesitate. "You told anyone about Tibs?"

Rodney was taken aback and silent for at least a whole second. "No."

"Do you want me to tell anyone?"

"No," repeated Rodney as that was about all he could think of to say.

"Fair enough," said Ronon with a shrug. "I lied to Teyla and said you were acting like you were because I'd yelled at you down on the planet."

"And just what am I acting like?"

"Like a guy who's trying real hard to pretend something didn't happen."

Rodney didn't get a chance to hotly deny Ronon's statement because someone had started yelling at the top of his lungs.

Sheppard.

((--))

Everything had been going so well, right up until the moment he'd closed his eyes to wash his hair. It was then, as the body temperature water slid down his face, along with the slippery suds of the shampoo, that his world view went on a tilter whirl.

He was back in Machine.

There was a rush of adrenaline, pure panic. He opened his eyes, got shampoo in them, collided with a wall trying to get out. Hard to do since the infirmary shower was designed for wheel chair access. It was about as roomy as you could get. The shower curtain wasn't doing him any favors either.

The male nurse that was unobtrusively sitting on a bench out of eye line was immediately on alert and by that time Sheppard couldn't figure out where the hell he was. For some reason the shower curtain had turned into an impenetrable barrier. His brain kept telling him that it was the side of Machine and no way was he going to get past it. While his thought processes went into over drive doing mental flip flops, he opted for making for a corner and crouching down as low as he could go. Maybe this time around the bitch wouldn't see him and if she didn't see him, maybe she wouldn't drag him back under.

"Colonel Sheppard, are you okay?"

His brain wasn't capable of figuring out where the voice was coming from and who it was. He was running on basic survival instinct and that instinct told him that remaining very still, and very quiet until provoked was the best possible course of action.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

He heard a sound of swishing material and his brain told him that it was the sound of Machine firing up her blue energy nail gun. She'd be drilling through his skull any time now.

A hand touched his upper arm. He jerked his eyes open, and figured the best defense was a good offense. He slugged the intruder right in the face. The man, someone he probably shouldn't have been frightened of, staggered backwards and at the same time put a hand to his radio headset. This cheered Sheppard for a tiny moment. Hey, he'd remembered that the thing in the guy's ear was a radio.

"Dr. Beckett, it's Kyle. Colonel Sheppard appears to be hallucinating and I need some help. Right now would be good."

The man whose name was apparently Kyle backed off, holding his palms up in a gesture of peace. Sheppard took it as an opportunity to draw his knees up to himself, wrap his arms around his legs and curl up into a protective huddle against the corner. Being propped up by the wall suited Sheppard just fine.

Except of course, there was no rest for the wicked. Two other people rushed into the bathroom. The Really Tall Guy, who he vaguely thought was called Ronon, and the poor bastard whose face had been rearranged. On the plus side of the ledger, at least the shower curtain had been pulled back.

"That can't be good," said the guy with the broken nose and black eyes.

"Colonel Sheppard appears to be experiencing some anxiety," said Kyle.

"No shit, Sherlock," replied the guy with the black eyes. "He must be freezing sitting on the floor."

Sheppard smiled at the comment. They both had it right. Anxiety? Hell, yes. Freezing? Yes, that too.

"Hey, Sheppard."

He opened his eyes again, found the Really Tall Guy and Guy with Black Eyes had moved closer. Behind them, a whole swathe of people had crowded into the bathroom. Three more nurses, one of whom was attending to the bruised Kyle, and Carson, who was busily drawing up a syringe.

Sheppard instinctively closed his eyes again, resting his forehead against his arms. Something he wouldn't normally do as losing sight of the potential enemy was bad. He told himself that it would be a tactical advantage if he could get a grip on reality.

"Carson, come on, is that really necessary?"

"Believe me, Rodney, I don't want to do this, but if he's a danger to himself and others…"

"Yeah, he looks really dangerous sitting on a shower floor, naked, and covered in soap. Hugely threatening."

"What do you suggest? Believe me, I'd prefer he had a chance of coming out of this himself."

Rodney sighed. "I can't believe I'm saying this but… Let me talk to him. Alone." Rodney spared a glance at Ronon. "No offence."

"None taken. But I'm standing outside the door. Yell if you need me."

"Oh, don't worry. If the space cadet here decides to try and kill me with one of his patented military death grips, there'll definitely be yelling."

Sheppard risked a peek from his arms, and saw that Ronon was leaving without a single glance back in his direction. Carson and the others reluctantly followed him.

"Remember, Rodney," said Carson. "Any problems at all, you need to tell us."

Rodney waved at dismissive hand at the group. "Yeah, yeah. Avoidance of death and injury. Check."

With the room cleared of various on-lookers, Sheppard felt marginally more relaxed. He risked straightening up a fraction, and trying to get a better idea about the guy who was apparently called Rodney. Not that he didn't think he knew this already. His brain told him that the name should be as familiar as his own, that Rodney and him had a shared history, but right now he just couldn't recall the memories. The memories were there, it just seemed his brain was having a problem with the indexing and sorting components of retrieving them.

Rodney had fetched a spare towel and spread it on the floor, opposite Sheppard. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he sat down beside Sheppard.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," mutter Rodney to himself.

"Join the club," said Sheppard.

Rodney smiled at that then shifted his weight. "The water is seeping into the legs of my pants. I hope you appreciate this."

Sheppard wasn't sure what to say, so didn't say anything.

"Anyway," continued Rodney. "I suppose this is a stupid question but – how are you?"

Sheppard shrugged, remained curled up. "I get the feeling this isn't exactly one of my finest moments."

"You've got that right." Rodney paused for a moment. "Crap, there's no way I'm having a conversation with a naked man. I'm going to get you a towel."

Rodney abruptly stood, went over and rummaged in the stack of towels and clothing Kyle had laid out. Grabbing a large bath sheet, Rodney came back and draped it around the shoulders of Sheppard. It seemed to do the trick and it made him feel marginally less freezing.

With that mission completed, Rodney went back to sitting down. "A lot of other people would ask what happened, but I think I can guess. I'm putting warm water and shampoo or soap together and getting Machine."

Sheppard snickered at the remark. He really couldn't have put it any better himself. "Yeah. That's pretty much it."

His companion shrugged. "It's not exactly a surprise."

Damn, he was cold again and now that the shower curtain wasn't in the way, the room looked less like an organic computer and more like what it was – a bathroom. He relaxed some more, drawing the bath towel around him.

"Do you think Carson is going to drug me into next week if I walk out of here?"

"Nope. But I imagine Kate might want to talk to you at some point. I don't think either of us is going to get out of that requirement."

He looked blankly at Rodney, temporarily unable to place who he was talking about. Rodney made a gesture at his head, indicating the subject had longish hair.

"Woman. Blonde. Pretty. If she wasn't the expedition shrink you'd have tried to sleep with her by now."

He raised an eyebrow, said the first thing that popped into his confused brain. "What makes you think I haven't?"

"I don't even want to know. You ready to make a move yet?"

Sheppard glanced around him, thought it was probably a prudent idea to get dressed. Less risk of hypothermia for a start. Also, the shower was still running. It was just that all the hot water was going down the drain, about three feet away from where they were currently sitting.

"Yeah. I'm good. I think."

"Great." Rodney stood, held out a hand to help him off the floor. "Just make sure you're holding that towel nice and tight. I don't want to catch a glimpse of anything that's going to make me want to scrub my eyeballs with soap."

Sheppard managed to laugh at that, but he also did as he was told.

((--))

Carson was back in Elizabeth's office, Kate in tow. Elizabeth had insisted on a bi-weekly catch-up on the medical status of McKay and Sheppard just to ensure everything was on track. Carson figured it was because she was getting pressure from SGC to file regular reports. After all, having the military commander of Atlantis and their lead scientist out of action for nearly two months wasn't exactly a great look.

He called up his notes on his laptop, found himself staring at the scan taken from the time Rodney had an arrow wedged firmly into his gluteus maximus. Poor Rodney had actually been lucky. The arrow head was grating on the pelvic bone. If the arrow had gone in with any more force there was the real possibility of a break. He looked around the file and called up his latest notes.

Rodney had been dismissed from the infirmary and had been seen spending his so-called rest time talking to anyone within spitting distance. He was rarely alone in his quarters, and had taken to spending his free time in the cafeteria after he'd been booted out of the labs by an irritated Zelenka. He'd been avoiding Kate like the plague.

As to Sheppard, he was recovering slowly and surely. He was still as jittery as hell and avoiding the shower. Carson could only convince him to take a bath in extremely shallow water. Normally he was sure Sheppard would have just sucked it up and dealt with the developing phobia by himself. He would have worked through his problem before anyone was even aware that he had one. With the lingering after effects of Machine still with him, his normal resilience was lacking.

Kate was really going to have her work cut out for her.

Elizabeth was sitting behind her desk, trying her best to look less like a concerned friend and more like the civilian leader of Atlantis.

"Any progress with Rodney and John?"

Carson gestured to his laptop. "You've got most of it from the report I sent you. I think the Colonel will make a full recovery but it's going to take a little time."

He spared a glance at Kate, working up to the next piece of news. Elizabeth picked up on it.

"Tell me what's not written down in the report. The part you don't want the SGC to know about," she said.

Kate picked up where Carson had left off. "Rodney is literally bouncing off the walls. He's agitated, and anxious."

Elizabeth nodded. "I've been getting reports…"

"Colonel Sheppard is also starting to be a problem," said Carson. "He won't remain in bed and my staff spend most of their time trying to stop him from going back to his office to work. Not that he could actually work anyway, or find his office, but he seems to think he should. I don't mind telling you what a complete nightmare it will be for my staff if I have the Colonel hanging around in my infirmary for longer than a week. The Colonel doesn't react well when he's confined for long periods of time."

"I don't think any of us do when it comes to long periods of sickness or injury," said Elizabeth.

"Kate and I have a proposition for you."

"Go on…" Her tone of voice said that she wasn't quite sure where the conversation was going but she presumed she wasn't exactly going to like it.

"The Colonel has recovered enough functionality that he doesn't need to be supervised full time in the infirmary. Going back to his quarters and familiar surroundings would help him with the rest of his recovery. But he needs someone to keep an eye on him."

"Of course."

"And I don't have the staff for it. So I was thinking… Rodney would be the perfect choice."

Elizabeth abruptly stopped writing. "Rodney? Are you sure?"

"Look, Rodney isn't the greatest at saying the right thing, but underneath it all, he's a compassionate soul and he's very responsible. More importantly, Rodney needs the company and he needs something to focus on something other than himself. If Rodney is supervising Sheppard and they're temporarily sharing quarters that means I know Sheppard isn't alone. I can make two house calls at once."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow, gave him a look that said she thought Carson may have just lost his mind. "You're serious."

"Yes. In terms of their health, I think it's best for them."

"Are you laboring under the delusion that by putting them in a room together, they might just talk over this whole event and help each other?"

"That, too."

"Carson, did anyone ever tell you that you're quite the evil genius when you try?"

Carson winked at her. "Well, it was Kate's idea too."

Kate smiled. " Don't let that kind Scottish exterior fool you…"

((--))

After two days, Caron announced that temporarily, Sheppard and Rodney would be room mates. He told Rodney while they were having lunch. Rodney had started insisting to anyone he could, that he really, really wanted to have lunch with them. Only people had started avoiding the overly friendly scientist lest they be subjected to another mindless conversation about his cat, his hot former neighbor who had agreed to take his cat, how he didn't like dogs, about why he'd decided to go into astrophysics and how he'd spent time stuck in a research post in Russia. It just didn't stop.

"_What_?"

"Rodney, half of Atlantis can hear you. Calm down and let me explain."

"Oh yes, explain, Please explain why you are forcing me to share quarters with a man who has so far called me Mitch, Dex and Holland and decided to wig out in a shower."

"Because it's not good for him to be in the infirmary for the entire time it's going to take for him to recover. You're on medical leave too and you're not exactly incapacitated. You'd be perfect."

"I'm supposed to be resting! Looking after Colonel Sheppard isn't resting!"

"You'll be resting while keeping an eye on the Colonel. Look, if it's any consolation, myself and my team are going to be checking on your both regularly. If you honestly can't cope, we can take over. We'll even provide room service if you need it."

Rodney seemed temporarily mollified. "As long as we can order anything we want."

"Of course, Rodney. Anything you like," said Carson. "Within reason. I'm not going to be pleased if I hear you've been ordering candy bars all day, but apart from that…"

"Exactly who's staying where? He's not staying in my quarters. I like my place exactly as it is. It's clean, and it's tidy."

"Then you can stay with Sheppard."

"No, his place is a dump. I'm not sharing a room with a set of golf clubs, a skate board, a body board, a poster of Johnny Cash and fifty thousand sudoku books."

"Make up your mind, Rodney, because you are going to get very bored, very quickly if we set you up in the spare quarters. The ones no one wants because they have a lousy view, busted air conditioning and they're miles from anywhere."

Rodney crossed his arms, and looked like he'd given up protesting for whatever reason. Carson made a presumption that deep down Rodney might actually have liked the concept. Or that it would at least give him something to do. "Okay, fine. I'll stay in Sheppard's quarters."

"That's what I like to hear. I'll let Elizabeth know."

Rodney nodded, stuck a fork in the meatloaf lying on his plate, partially covered by mashed potatoes and peas. He took a bite, only partially chewed and then waved the fork around.

"Hey, Carson, did I ever tell you about the time I won the Bryer's Medal for Applied Application of Theoretical Physics?"

Carson sighed, shook his head and Rodney was off and talking.

((--))

Sheppard was walking down the corridor with Carson. Walking towards his own quarters. Not that he could remember how to get there very well. Or what had happened between arriving back in Atlantis and day seven. He had a vague recollection of people talking to him, of freaking out in the shower and for some odd reason Kate Heightmeyer making him do seemingly pointless tasks. Like sticking fiddly pegs into a board and trying to copy shapes and a really dumb quiz involving memorizing a list of objects.

He was following Carson, letting Carson lead the way to his quarters, situated in a corridor that he sort of remembered, but not quite. Of course, he wasn't about to tell Carson that because after ten days, Carson had pronounced him _compos mentis_ enough to be able to go without extended medical supervision. The operative word being medical. He'd still be supervised. Which was the downside of being let out of sickbay since the person doing the supervision was one Rodney McKay.

"I think I may have mentioned this before, but I think sharing quarters with Rodney is perhaps the stupidest idea I've ever heard."

"Rodney said the same thing," replied Carson. "But neither of you are worming out of this. I need someone to ensure that you're not doing your usual performance of trying to get back to duty too soon. It's either this, or you can spend the entire time – which may be up to six weeks or more – in the infirmary. Your choice."

Sheppard put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "If you put it like that then you win. But really, have you considered what the aggravation is going to do to my long term health?"

"You'll survive."

They had arrived at his quarters. Sheppard wandered on in, astounded as usual to find all of his stuff was still there. The military had a habit of boxing personal belongings at the first hint of disappearance or possible death.

There was an extra bed somehow squeezed into the tiny space that was his quarters. They were going to be tripping over each other.

Carson fished around in the bag he was carrying and put the medications down on the bedside table. "Chlorpromazine for any nausea. Diclofenac for the headaches. Diazepam if you can't sleep. As always, I have to give you the completely opposite lecture that I usually give patients. Take them if they're needed and follow the instructions. Don't try and be a tough guy. And under no circumstances think about giving the diazepam to Rodney. I will not be impressed if you sedate him."

Sheppard crossed his heart. "I promise. Look at how sincere I am."

"Remember to call me if you have any problems. I'll drop by tonight, make sure you're both settling in."

"Where is he anyway?"

"He said he was packing."

Speak of the devil… Rodney, carrying a duffle bag, and his laptop strode into the room, followed by a marine carrying a folding chair, two pillows and a sports bag slung over his shoulder. Rodney turned to the hapless marine and pointed him to one of the only pieces of wall not currently covered by furniture.

"Put it down over there."

The marine gave Sheppard a long suffering look, then dumped it all in a pile.

"Rodney, is there any reason you're using one of my marines as a moving company?"

"I'm using him because that's what they're good for."

Sheppard dismissed the marine, who left with a grateful look on his face. "They're not there for your entertainment. What the hell did you bring anyway? Your quarters are about a ten minute trip from here."

Rodney rolled his eyeballs. "Yes, ten minutes there and back. I'm not spending twenty minutes a day out of my busy schedule traipsing backwards and forwards to my quarters."

Carson cleared his throat. "Rodney, right about now, you don't have a busy schedule. Remember? It's called medical leave."

"Terrific. I finally get some time off and it's for babysitting duties."

Carson appeared to be counting to ten and biting his tongue. Sheppard didn't blame him as he was pretty much doing the same. Besides, how insulting was it that Rodney was complaining and yet Sheppard was the one that had to be babysat? He didn't exactly like the concept either.

Rodney wasn't going to be deterred from his current complaining. "What are we going to do anyway? Sit around and swap girl talk?"

"I don't care what you do," replied Carson. "As long as it doesn't involve work. Or exploring the unexplored parts of Atlantis. Or taking the jumper for a spin. Or trying to get some piece of Ancient tech to go."

"That doesn't leave much," said Sheppard. Actually, it sounded boring.

"It leaves eating, and sleeping and doing your laundry. You could also try fishing if you feel up to it, or a movie. But no exercise. I repeat, no running, no weight lifting, no treadmills, and no workouts with Teyla. None. Zero. "

"For six weeks?"

"Or even seven if you keep badgering me. You get to do all the exciting stuff when I've cleared you and not a second before."

Both Rodney and Sheppard had an opportunity to look appalled. With that, Carson exited, looking smug and satisfied.

"Enjoy your time off, and I'll see you both tonight and check how you're settling in."

The doors shut behind him. Rodney unfolded the fold up chair, and sat down on it. "For a doctor, he's unusually sadistic."

Sheppard sat down on his bed, and tried to remember when he'd hung the giant Johnny Cash poster on his wall. "On the bright side, it's better than being stuck in the infirmary." He glanced at his watch. "What do you want to do now?"

"Build an effigy of Carson and burn it?"

"Apart from that."

"I think someone just checked the _Star Wars_ DVD – the original movie – back into the DVD library."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I hacked into the DVD library database and every time a title comes back that I want, I get an alert. Then I put a hold on it, just to stop anyone else from getting their grubby hands on it."

"That's cheating."

"It's either that, or whatever is left. I refuse to watch seasons one through five of _Seventh Heaven_."

"What about something else?"

Rodney sighed, opened up his laptop, and tapped a few commands. "They've got _Aliens_."

It was one of Sheppard's favorites but not today. "Uh, no. Too many women with bad attitudes."

"Fair enough. They haven't got anything else except chick flicks by the looks. _Bridget Jones's Diary_?"

"No way. Book _Star Wars_. We can go and pick it up and then go to the cafeteria and finagle a snack."

"Finagle. Have you been expanding your word power with _Reader's Digest _again?"

"Leave me alone."

"Sorry, couldn't resist. Come on, let's go. By the way, this time around, would you try _not_ comparing me to C-3PO. I am not that gay."

"But you are that fussy."

"Shut up, Sheppard."

"You shut up."

Oh yeah. It was gonna be a long six weeks.

((--))

Ronon and Teyla decided it was time to pay Sheppard and McKay a visit. They'd been regulars in the infirmary but Sheppard had been too out of it to register their presence and Rodney had cornered them with long, meandering tales of his cat, getting his first PhD, why he thought the Ancients had chosen this particular spot to sink Atlantis, and why he missed Krispy Kreme donuts.

Even Teyla had to excuse herself, just so that she didn't have to listen to McKay rambling any more. She was hoping that now they had been cleared from the infirmary, she might get a more coherent reaction out of both of them.

They hit the door chime on Sheppard's quarters, and after a moment, the door opened. The smell of popcorn drifted out and Ronon and Teyla entered.

The place looked like a disaster zone. Two laptops open and sitting on the bed, a half eaten tub of popcorn on the floor, two open Diet Coke cans on the bedside table. Rodney was sitting on a folding chair, squinting at a laptop and trying to position it to avoid sunlight falling on the screen.

"You're going to have to pull the curtains if we want to see this. The screen is tiny."

"I don't have any curtains, so there are no curtains to pull," said Sheppard over his shoulder before turning his attention back to Ronon and Teyla. "We were just trying to watch _Star Wars_."

Ronon crossed his arms and regarded the laptop. "On that? What about the plasma screen in the recreation room?"

"There's a squad sitting through _Gone in 60 Seconds_ and they were there first. I was going to stay with them but Rodney got all snippy on me."

"I did _not_ get snippy. I expressed my concern. If Carson found I'd let you out of my sight, he'd give me a lecture. Carson's lectures have been known to stun baby fur seals to death."

Ronon debated where he was going to sit, couldn't see a spare spot that would accommodate him, so parked himself up against a small chunk of wall. Teyla aimed for a free spot on Sheppard's bed.

"I am pleased to see that you are both feeling better."

Rodney screwed up his eyes, the statement seemingly causing him a small amount of panic. The skin around his eyes were still darkly bruised, but turning to deep yellowish green. "Yes, feeling better. Never felt better. Do you two want to watch _Star Wars_ or not?"

"Can I compare you to that golden robot character?" Ronon asked.

"No! I already explained to Sheppard. I am nothing like C-3PO."

"Okay. Just asking."

Sheppard chimed in, "Easy there Chewie."

Now it was time for Ronon to get miffed. "I don't look anything like that wookie character."

Teyla sighed. The boys were definitely not playing nice. "I think perhaps we could all do with a distraction. Colonel, do you think you would be up to a walk?"

"Yeah. Carson said I wasn't supposed to go running or go to the gym but he didn't say anything about a walk. Pier three, on the south side?"

"Yes. The usual place."

She wondered if she could get them to burn off some collective energy or at least get them exhausted enough that they could stop long enough to deal with their experiences. Ronon she could handle by herself, in her own way. He wasn't big on opening up, but he trusted her and a couple of rounds of sparring he'd have worked it out of his system.

Sheppard was much the same, but at least his reticence and vagueness was understandable. McKay had her puzzled though and McKay had always struck her as the easiest person to read in Atlantis. He wasn't much for self censoring and he'd tell everyone exactly what he thought. This time though – she knew that all that talking was a ruse. A diversion for everyone who expected McKay to be acting in exactly this manner.

She exited the room, and made it clear that she expected everyone to follow.

((--))

Precisely one hour later, Rodney and Sheppard were back in Sheppard's quarters with a pissed off Carson standing over both of them.

Sheppard had abruptly tired and had been unable to make it back to his quarters without help. Then he'd been hit with a migraine. Then Carson had to be called while Sheppard lay very still on the bed and prayed for the daylight to go away.

Teyla and Ronon had made themselves scarce and Rodney had attempted to escape back to his quarters, but Carson had banned the move. Rodney was forced to help out.

"You need to go and find some blankets and block out the sunlight. That's going to help with the Colonel's headache."

Rodney raised a hand. "Uh, from where?"

Carson put both hands on his hips. "From the bloody logistical supply group like everyone else. I want you back here as soon as you can. And yes, you should have thought about this before you both set off on your little adventure to do laps around the bloody pier!"

"It wasn't my idea! It was Teyla's. And we didn't do laps. We were walking, thank-you-very-much."

"I know. But she was just trying to help. You should have known better and said something. Colonel Sheppard wasn't up to doing anything at all on his first day out of the infirmary!"

Rodney seemed to bite back his next remark and Carson gave him a scowl that made the scientist practically run from the room.

That just left Sheppard. Carson, feeling unusually peeved, wanted to give him a lecture as well, but in Sheppard's current condition, making him more comfortable seemed to be a better priority. His patient was currently curled on the bed, eyes screwed up tightly, cradling his head.

Carson lowered his voice, sat down on the bed beside Sheppard. "Colonel, how bad is it?"

Sheppard didn't open his eyes, but he did reply. "Throbbing on the right side of my head. I think my brain is going to explode. Light hurts my eyes. I feel sick."

"I think you over exerted yourself today and that's probably the cause of all this. Did you take any of the diclofenac yet?"

"No. I was trying to-"

"-Tough it out. Why am I not surprised?" Carson reached over, got two of the tablets, and a glass of water from the bathroom. He handed it over to Sheppard and made sure both tablets were swallowed. Then he went back into the bathroom, rinsed a washcloth under cold water, brought it back and stuck the folder washcloth on Sheppard's forehead.

Sheppard opened his eyes, gave Carson a quizzical look before rapidly shutting them both again but not before putting a hand to his forehead to hold the cloth in place.

"The cold helps," said Carson by way of explanation. "Think of it as a primitive version of those migraine strips I keep in the infirmary."

"Thanks, Carson. Sorry I've been such a pain lately."

"You haven't been a pain. You've been sick and over doing it on your first day out of the infirmary isn't going to make you heal any faster."

"I'm never been good at taking it easy."

"I've noticed."

Carson continued sitting on the bed as Sheppard seemed to begin falling asleep. He didn't want to disturb him but did manage to coax Sheppard to hold out an arm so he could get a blood pressure cuff on. As soon as he had a reading, indicating nothing abnormal, he removed the cuff and Sheppard drifted off again. This suited Carson perfectly because sleeping was the best thing for a headache of Sheppard's magnitude.

Of course, nothing was ever easy.

Sheppard sat bolt upright, griped Beckett's shoulder for all he was worth. "She's not here is she?!"

Carson presumed that he was talking about Machine. "No, lad. She's not here. She was destroyed down on the planet. Remember?"

"She's dead and I know that, but I keep looking," replied Sheppard, his eyes focused on some other place and time. "I keep hoping that one day I'm gonna open the door and she'll be there. If she comes back, everyone will be happy. Dad will be happy."

Okay, not talking about Machine. It was hard to know what to do, except fake it and hope Sheppard took his noncommittal replies at face value. "I know. It must be hard."

Sheppard agreed. "Yeah. I want her to come home so much. Dad doesn't know that. If he did, I know he'd be mad at me."

Carson opened his mouth to reply but he was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of McKay, who seemed to have retrieved a number of blankets in record time.

"Rodney, where'd you get those? Supply is at least fifteen minutes away."

"Quarters next door. I broke in and left a note."

"That's hardly appropriate."

"They can get more. This was an emergency." Rodney busied himself by trying to figure out how to attach the blankets to the windows. He settled on taking Sheppard's dart set and using them as nails. He began hammering them into the wall with one of Sheppard's golf clubs.

Sheppard just rolled up and put his hands over his ears. Carson decided to give Rodney two-minutes to finish his inconsiderate hammering before he made his displeasure felt.

"I don't suppose you could have tied them up somehow?" Said Carson.

"It worked didn't it? Great, now I can't see a thing. Let me get these lights up a notch." Rodney went over to the control panel inside the room and turned on the lights, then adjusted them down to a dimmer level. "That's better. You know, this isn't so bad like this. We should get curtains made and then hang them in people's quarters and then we could take naps if we wanted to and also there's that whole privacy angle thing-"

Carson watched as Sheppard shifted restlessly on the bed, trying to ignore Rodney's torrent of words. His famous patience with Rodney was swiftly disappearing as he watched his more needier patient struggle with a sizeable migraine.

"-Rodney, would you please be quiet! Honestly, do you have to talk quite so much?"

And Rodney did abruptly stop talking. He stared at Carson as if Carson had grown another head, then turned on his heels and fled the room.

Carson had the feeling that he was going to feel guilty for his uncharacteristic outburst. Big time.

**End of Chapter Twelve**.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Rodney fled to the deserted corridors of Atlantis and hid. He felt like a dork. He could have just pretended that he hadn't heard Carson, or realized Carson was only protecting Sheppard, but no, he'd over reacted.

Now he had Carson's voice in his ear, compliments of the radio.

"Rodney, I know you can hear me… Can you please just answer me, and let me know if you're okay?"

He kept walking, ignoring the puddles of water as he walked and the dank nature of the barely lit corridor.

"Rodney, if you don't answer me, I'm going to have to inform Elizabeth and then she'll send out a search party for you."

Frustrated, he tapped his radio and responded. "I'm okay. Leave me alone."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Alright. I'm going to leave you alone to work this out for yourself. But if I check in on the Colonel and you're not back… Rodney, I'll be very worried."

Good, thought Rodney. Then he walked some more, trying to get himself under control. Tibs had shaken him so badly it was hard to get rid of the irrational feeling that at any moment the psychopath was going to reappear. Walking around in a moldy corridor that bore a resemblance to the corridor leading to the lab under Machine probably wasn't helping either.

Damn it. This sucked and he just didn't know what to do.

He headed back the way he came, back towards Sheppard's quarters. He guessed some company was better than no company, and maybe if he went back, Carson wouldn't sic Kate onto him.

((--))

Sheppard woke to a nearly dark room, no headache and a damp face. He recalled Carson being in the same room and giving him the tablets and then he was out like a light. The damp feeling on one side of his face was due to the washcloth shifting position, and the fact that he'd been drooling into it.

He propped himself up on his elbows, squinted at the digital clock that told him it was seventeen hundred. Still the afternoon and it felt like the day was wasted.

Looking around, he tried to see if McKay was still there, but the room was deserted. Carson had probably kicked Rodney out to give him some peace.

At least that meant he could take his time in getting organized and not have Rodney blabbing away at him. He went to the improvised curtains and noticed that his dart set was now embedded into the wall, along with the corners of the blankets.

"Great. Thanks, McKay," he said to himself. Then he drew back a blanket acting as a curtain. The light that streamed in was bearable. It was moving into autumn on their hemisphere and consequently the sun was setting just that little bit earlier every day. He decided to remove the blankets all the way, and let the rest of the light in.

He contemplated what he was supposed to do now. He was hungry but didn't trust himself to find his way to the cafeteria and having to wait for Rodney to return so they could actually eat was just a further reminder that he was paying endlessly for the few days he spent in the company of Machine. There was always the option of calling up Lorne and asking him to get a marine to rustle something up, but Lorne would in all likelihood immediately tattle to Carson or Elizabeth. Lorne was one of those infuriatingly loyal behind-the-scenes guys who made sure the CO was healthy and happy in his own unobtrusive way.

Wandering over to one of the bedside cabinets, he opened the top drawer and wondered if he'd managed to keep any power bars in there. He rifled around and found a packet of Kleenex, eye drops, throat lozenges, yet another sudoku book, three ballpoint pens, a Bowie knife (you could never have too many knives) and two power bars. That just left the whole problem of opening the damn things. He had most of his coordination back, but the smaller movements were still proving awkward. After two attempts to open the wrapper by pulling an edge apart, and dropping the bar, he gave up in frustration and used his teeth. He tore one open, managed to roll down the wrapper and then thought twice about biting into it as the so-called 'chocolate' coating had bloomed with a powdery white substance. According to the wrapper, the power bar had expired the year before. Actually, both of them had.

Mind you, he was pretty hungry. How bad could a really old power bar be?

He was about to find out when there was a knock at his door. He figured it was Carson because Carson was always too polite to just barge into someone's quarters, unlike a certain physicist.

The mystery visitor turned out to be Kate.

"Hello, Colonel. Do you mind if I come in?"

He shook his head, realized he was clutching a year-old power bar. Decided he would throw it out into the trash. He turned around, letting Kate into the room and casually tossed the offensive and excessively processed portion of protein into the waste paper basket. He missed, and the power bar fell on the floor.

Kate made herself instantly at home. She was carrying a small backpack, which she removed and placed on a chair. She looked around the room, and Sheppard could see her taking little analysis notes with her eyes based on the detritus strewn around the place.

"Where's Rodney?"

She was trying to ask in a casual manner but from the tone of her voice, Sheppard immediately picked up that perhaps all was not well.

"I don't know. He was gone when I woke up. What's up?"

Kate perched herself on the end of his unmade bed. "Nothing's up. I just came down to see how you were adjusting." She rummaged around in the pack. "I also needed to bring you a couple of things."

She dug around pulled out the peg board that he had vague memories of, and a jar containing a bunch of the fiddly plastic pegs. That was followed by a CD.

Not that he wanted to appear ungrateful but there was only one thing to say to Kate's gifts. "What the hell are those?"

"Remember when I tested you last week?"

Sheppard opted for a non committal nodding of the head, and hoped she'd take it at face value. Kate narrowed her eyes slightly but seemed ready to let him tell some fibs for the sake of getting through the explanation.

"Carson asked me to run some neuropsych tests on you. Just to assess your level of functionality. Memory, fine motor skills, hand-eye coordination, ability to process information."

He opted for another nod of the head, and faked the need to search intensively for something in his beside cabinet as a distraction because he would probably need it. His little annoying voice, the one that kept kicking him in his butt, said that Kate was about to get medieval on his flight status. Then again, who was he kidding? No way in hell was he in any condition to fly anything – not even a paper airplane. Just another fact that he could add to his growing sense of aggravation.

"The results of the test aren't pretty, but you've definitely come along in leaps and bounds since then. One area that you can definitely help along however is your fine motor skills. When I tested you they were shot. I think you've improved since then, but practice will make it better."

He stopped rummaging. "And?"

"And a really good way to practice, which is mind numbingly boring but useful, is to stick all the pegs into the board and take them out again. Time yourself while you do it."

"You're kidding."

"Not really." Kate handed him the CD. "Get Rodney to load this onto your laptop for you. It's a memory game. It'll improve your recall. Just don't over do it, don't get frustrated and don't let Rodney anywhere near it."

Sheppard grinned. "Yeah, he'd be good at a memory game. He'd also tell me how good he was. Endlessly."

Kate dug around in her pack again. She pulled out some sheets of paper, containing diagrams. Thrusting the sheets into his hand, she seemed slightly embarrassed.

Sheppard studied them, and realized they were maps of the corridors in Atlantis. Bad maps drawn with a black marker but definitely maps.

"I thought you might be having trouble finding your way around, and I realized we didn't have any official maps of Atlantis. Not ones I could follow anyway. I went down to the GIS team and they gave me a bunch of diagrams that show the sewage outlets, the number of lights and power sources. Then they said it would be easier if they could give me a GPS receiver but as no one had bothered to put a satellite in orbit, it was just my bad luck they were still mapping out the land masses on the planets that contain stargates."

He nodded, well aware of what she must have been through. The GIS team was probably right up there with the physicists for the geek factor. Besides, you had to appreciate anyone who, instead of labeling everything, had drawn the cafeteria with a picture that might have been a sandwich and a cup of coffee, the infirmary with a picture of a Band-Aid and a pair of crutches and her own office with a smiley face.

"You don't think the smiley face is a bit delusional?" Sheppard held the sheet up, pointed to the face.

"I like to think that it reflects my wonderful disposition and sunny personality," said Kate. She smiled at him. He couldn't help but return it.

Unfortunately, she seemed determined to stay where she was. He didn't get the sense that she was leaving any time soon. In fact she seemed to be settling down for a more serious discussion.

"I hate to bring this up, but Carson mentioned that you were having a few problems with the shower."

There was an area that neither of them should go. He wasn't about to discuss that problem with anyone at all, thank-you-very-much. There was only so much embarrassment one man could take. Going bat shit in the shower the first time around was bad enough. Having Kate know that he was still freaking out was too much. He reminded himself to have a heart-to-heart with Carson later on.

"I'm good. I don't have a problem," he said. Then he reminded himself that at this point in time, any change in posture at all would give the game away. His tactic required him to look her straight in the eye and lie his head off.

"You're sure? Carson seemed certain that you're pretty conservative with water use these days."

"That was when I was in the infirmary. I'm fine now."

"You've only been out of the infirmary for eight hours."

"I had a shower when Carson left."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Before she could call him on his obvious bending of the truth, Rodney walked in. By the way Kate's eyes lit up it seemed that Rodney had been her true target all along. That was a relief.

McKay walked into the room, took one look at Kate and promptly turned on his heel and started to leave. Kate put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Cafeteria. I'm hungry," Rodney said. Then he removed Kate's hand and headed back towards the door.

"Hey, I'm going with you!" Sheppard was thrilled at Rodney's churlish behavior simply because he could tag along and escape Kate's clutches. He made a move to join McKay.

Unfortunately Kate stepped in front of the door, and held up her hands in a signal to halt.

"Okay, everyone just take a deep breath and stop what they're doing."

Sheppard did as he was told. Rodney too, except he wasn't exactly still. He was rocking slightly on his feet.

"She's tiny. I bet if you got one arm and I got the other, we could just lift her out of the way," whispered Rodney.

"I think she can hear you," Sheppard whispered back.

Kate crossed her arms and seemed to have dropped her famously neutral look to go for annoyed. "Rodney, you're scheduled for a session with me tomorrow morning. I expect you to be there. Colonel Sheppard, you're in the afternoon."

He opened his mouth to argue his case but she stopped him cold.

"No, 'I'm good', no 'I'm great' and no, 'I have other things to do'. Neither of you can get out of this. Carson ordered it and Elizabeth signed it off."

Rodney seemed to be opting to push his luck. "So what happens if we don't turn up? Are you going to throw us in the brig?"

The feisty Rodney was back. Sheppard tried to remember when McKay had started acquiring such a bad attitude. "What he said," said Sheppard. Just to offer some back up.

Kate sighed, crossed her arms. "No, you don't get thrown in the brig but I did hear Elizabeth mention the fact that neither of you will get back on duty until I cleared you."

Rodney was back to his usual operating mode of indignant. "That's outrageous! Do you know what Zelenka will do to my lab in my absence? He'll let the underlings run amok and next thing I know one of them will blow something up."

"Then if you don't want the lab to blow up, you should make an effort to turn up in my office," replied Kate smoothly. She turned and palmed open the door. "I'll see you later. Colonel, remember to get Rodney to load up that CD."

And she was gone.

Rodney went and sat down on his bed, looking disheartened. "I'd like to know what lunatic thought we should bring along a counselor slash psychiatrist on this mission. Did anyone consider she's probably nuts herself?"

He considered that was a pretty low blow, even for Rodney. Part of him thought he should defend Kate a bit, even if he didn't exactly think anything of her chosen profession.

"She's just trying to do her job."

"She should go and do it with other people. People who need her."

Sheppard copied Rodney, and sat down on the edge of his own bed. "If we don't need her, I hate to think who does."

"You're defending her? Since when have you been a Heightmeyer fan?"

He sighed, flopped backwards so he could stare at the ceiling, rather than McKay's miserable countenance. "I'm not. I'm just feeling guilty for giving her such a hard time."

Rodney seemed to find his admission of guilt amusing. "Guilt. Hah. Kate's going to have a field day."

"Shut up, McKay."

"Good come back. Did you practice that all day or just come up with it now?"

"Just now. Impressed? I know I am."

He was about to say something else when McKay's stomach let out an alarming growling sound and that reminded Sheppard that he was also in serious need of something to eat.

"We should go to the cafeteria."

"Yeah," replied McKay, uncharacteristically taciturn for a change.

Without another word, they left the room.

((--))

Carson was updating his notes on Machine while eating a collection of little pink cupcakes he'd snagged from the cafeteria and drinking a cup of tea. The chef had started producing a selection of cakes and biscuits for those team members of the former British Commonwealth who had the occasional pining for a decent morning or afternoon tea.

He liked the pink cup cakes. Today he decided that to hell with decorum and instead of taking one, he'd taken six and scampered back to his office on the pretext he was sharing them with staff. Not.

The under utilized selfish part of him had told him that his empathetic, caring and sharing, regimented side could go hide for a while and his undisciplined, seldom seen side could come out and load up on sugar. After his experience in Machine, he deserved it. There was also the small matter of having yelled at Rodney. Not his best move. Sometimes the only way to get rid of a bothersome memory was to try drowning it in sucrose or alcohol.

Carson was stuffing his face with his third cup cake and feeling a tad sick when Kate strolled in. She gave him a curious look.

"You have, uh, frosting on your nose." She made a gesture to her own nose to indicate where he should wipe with the paper napkin.

"Oh. Right you are. Let me just get that," he replied and tried to hide his embarrassment as he removed the offending material.

Nothing ever slipped by Kate. She sized up the plate and the crumbs and the three remaining cakes.

"Can I have one?" She reached out a hand and Carson couldn't help but show his displeasure at one of his precious cakes being consumed by someone else with a slight pursing of his lips.

Of course, rather than say something and appear to have lost his mind he said, "No, go right ahead love. They're very nice."

She took one and seemed to be waiting for him to crack up and start screaming at her audacity in taking one of _his_ cakes.

"You'll be pleased to know that Rodney arrived back safe and well but not in a great mood."

"That's good," he replied. "That's he back and he's okay." Because it was. It meant he wouldn't have to explain that Rodney had gone missing because the famously caring Carson Beckett had yelled at him. He'd told Kate that Rodney has stormed off in a huff. He just hadn't mentioned _why_. Then again, right now, he just wished she'd stop eating his cupcakes.

"Carson, is there anything you'd like to talk to me about?" She asked the question in an even tone of voice, as if she was asking him about a movie he'd seen.

He paused and thought that perhaps he did. He wasn't tortured by Machine, but getting stuck in her for what seemed a life time had spooked him more than he cared to admit. Besides, he'd been initially distracted by worrying about Sheppard and McKay. His own stress had been firmly held in the background for a while but it was now definitely making itself known, especially to Rodney McKay.

"Aye. Come to think about it, I have been feeling a bit off kilter of late."

"I read your initial notes. It can't have been pleasant."

Carson shrugged. "That's probably the understatement of the century."

Kate finished off the cake and brushed the front of her shirt to get rid of the crumbs. "Feel up to a walk on the pier? The sunset always looks good from there."

He smiled at her, decided to leave the rest of the cakes for whoever wandered into the office.

"Aye. Why not. I can do the rest of my work when I get back."

They headed out together and as Carson walked with Kate down the corridors, he thought that even this one simple thing made him feel normal again.

For him, at least, normality was a relatively easy thing to obtain.

((--))

Cafeteria. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Rodney scanned the menu board. There was nothing truly stunning on offer, and the kitchen had obviously run out of flour again because it was back to Jell-O for desert. The pink cupcakes the chef had started making were also gone.

He nudged Sheppard. "That'll teach me to get my hopes up. Jell-O does not a happy Rodney make."

Sheppard didn't reply, just squinted at the board, shifting to his left foot. "Um…"

"What's wrong?"

"Crap." Sheppard was now trying to concentrate on the board, obviously trying to read what was there and failing.

"Crap?

Sheppard lowered his voice, clearly embarrassed. "I can't read this stupid board. Well, I can but as soon as I do, I forget it."

Rodney felt a surge of irritation at yet another sign of Machine's heel prints all over Sheppard's brain. He reminded himself that it wasn't actually Sheppard's fault, but his own problem. His own guilt at not being able to defend Sheppard and a bigger guilt at not being able to defend himself against Tibs. He tried to keep his reaction to a minimum. "No problem. Uh, it's a choice of lasagna, grilled chicken, or seafood casserole."

Sheppard nodded, and they got into the queue and shuffled along, the plates being loaded down with an assortment of food. Rodney went for the lasagna, purely for the comfort, and Sheppard went for grilled chicken, salad and the Jell-O, which explained why Sheppard was half his size.

They sat down at a spare table. Rodney regarded Sheppard's plate. "You eat like a woman on a permanent diet."

"You eat like a retired construction worker."

Rodney tried pretending he was insulted, but couldn't and suddenly found himself laughing with a mouthful of lasagna. He only just managed to keep his mouth closed.

They worked their way through their meals. Rodney finished his, but Sheppard lagged halfway through, the venture being too much for him.

"Come on. We'd better get back. Carson's going to have a fit," said Rodney.

"When does he not?" Sheppard stood up slowly, briefly balancing against the table. An action that Rodney didn't miss.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm good," responded Sheppard automatically before stopping himself. "Just got dizzy there for a second. Carson warned me that dizziness might be on the agenda."

"We'd better get back so you can lie down."

"Yeah… For once, I'm not going to object. I can't believe I need another nap. I've only just managed to wake up."

"I can't believe you admitted it."

Sheppard paused, seemed to be considering his next statement. "At the moment, and as much as I hate to admit this… You're about the only one I trust."

Rodney nodded but didn't understand why Sheppard would bother to trust him. Not after Machine. He didn't want to say that though, didn't want to go into some long meandering speech about his own problems. So instead he said, "Yeah. Uh, same here."

They slowly made their way back to Sheppard's quarters. Rodney hoped they didn't need to call Carson because he was going to be hopelessly pissy at them if he had to make two early house calls for Sheppard in a day.

((--))

Carson knew that Sheppard and McKay were in the cafeteria about five seconds after they entered. One of his lab technicians had gone down there to grab a very, very late lunch, seen them, seen Sheppard's reaction upon standing up and radioed Carson. Discreetly of course.

Sheppard and McKay, not really familiar with the girls and guys down in the labs, wouldn't have taken much notice.

He'd been half way around the pier with Kate, talking about Machine and what it was like being trapped in a giant festering wound for an organism when the call had come through. He excused himself, promising Kate that he would finish off his discussion with her later. But even that short talk had been enough, and he found himself feeling slightly calmer simply because she'd listened to him.

His next tactic was to play dumb. It wasn't the time to start berating them and he'd learned his lesson after loosing his self control and yelling at Rodney. He'd promised them he'd come back and check on them, so he guessed he would just tell them that he was a little early.

He was outside Sheppard's quarters, along with a med tech carrying the portable EEG. Hooking Sheppard up for eight hours would help him determine how much, if any, of the effects from Machine were wearing off.

He sounded the door chime, and then entered. The room was back to semi-darkness again. Sheppard was curled up on his bed; Rodney was sitting on his own bed, apparently trying to read _War and Peace_.

As Carson entered, Rodney put his fingers to his lips, made a 'shushing' gesture.

"He's nearly asleep. Don't disturb him," whispered Rodney.

Carson crossed to the bed. Sheppard laid there, eyes half closed, but snapped back to attention at Carson's entrance.

"I'm awake, not sleeping," he said fuzzily. Then sat up. "What'd I miss?"

"Nothing," said Carson. "I just came into check on you and wire you up to the EEG."

Sheppard slumped back onto the bed, "Goody. I miss being attached to monitors. You know, the wiring makes it so much easier to move around, and it's very comfortable."

"That was sarcasm, wasn't it?" Rodney had put the book down.

"How'd you guess?"

Carson shook his head at the encouraging exchange and thought that maybe he had been right to put them together. While the med tech hooked up Sheppard he took the opportunity to speak to Rodney. He gestured to Rodney to step outside into the corridor, out of Sheppard's earshot.

"I know this is a little late, but I just wanted to apologize," said Carson. "You've been through a lot, and I shouldn't have raised my voice."

Rodney shrugged, once more got that strange look on his face. The one that said it was a topic that was closed to discussion with Carson. "You weren't too know."

"I did know. Ronon told me about finding you. He won't go into any detail but he did say if I needed to know anything, to ask you about Tibs."

Rodney's mouth quirked. "He promised me that he wouldn't rat me out."

"Ronon was clearly concerned about you. Brother Tibs was clearly insane," said Carson.

"No, shit."

"I'm sorry for whatever you had to go through."

Rodney's head started dipping down, staring at his shoes, his shoulders rounding up into a hunch. "I didn't know what else to do. I had to make sure we survived, and I…" He stopped, still concentrating on his shoes. "I don't want to talk about this any more."

With that, the scientist turned and went back into Sheppard's quarters. Carson followed, not offering any more comment. It was a start, he guessed. He just hoped that Rodney would talk to Kate about it, and if not Kate then at least talk to Sheppard.

Sheppard had been hooked up to Carson's satisfaction, the EEG unit happily showing what passed for the pilot's version of consciousness. Sheppard looked annoyed.

"What am I supposed to do if I need to take a leak?"

"Give the night shift a call and they'll come and reconnect you back up. Or Rodney could do it. I'm pretty sure he could figure it out."

Rodney regarded the unit with disdain. He picked up _War and Peace_ again. "Two contacts on each temple. Oh. So difficult. So, so difficult. I'm not sure if my brain can cope…"

"Okay, so that's a yes then," said Carson, trying for a piece of normality. "Right, I'm going to leave you two alone and I'll be back tomorrow morning first thing. Remember, any problems at all, call the infirmary straight away. Dr. Paul is on duty tonight."

"Yes, mother," said McKay. He didn't look up from the book.

Carson didn't reply. They needed to keep working it out for themselves and his presence wouldn't help.

((--))

Sheppard woke up abruptly, on the verge of a scream, covered in sweat. He pushed himself up, ripped off the EEG.

Rodney was already awake. He was still quietly reading _War and Peace_, using a tiny reading light that could be clipped onto the cover of the book.

"Nightmare?"

Sheppard nodded, got up and padded into the bathroom to relieve himself, and to get a glass of water.

When he came out, Rodney was still reading, seemingly intent on not prying, but at the same time, understanding exactly what he'd been going through. Come to think of it, had Rodney even bothered to try to sleep?

He didn't ask that question however. He opted for a more innocent one because he couldn't get himself to focus on the digital clock. "What's the time?"

"Just after midnight."

He climbed back onto the bed, took a sip of water and placed the glass back onto the table. His radio set went off. Someone had figured that the EEG was disconnected. Rodney reached over, took the radio set from him.

"Let me," said Rodney. Sheppard heard a one sided conversation. "Yeah, no, he had to get up. Yeah, don't worry. I'll do it. No, don't send someone over." Rodney handed the radio set back to Sheppard. "The ever vigilant infirmary gnomes noticed their signal disappeared."

"It's great to feel loved." Sheppard held up to two leads, gestured to Rodney. "You want to hook me back up?"

"You can do it yourself if you want. It's easy. Just stick either one on your temple. It's Ancient tech, it'll do the rest."

Sheppard nodded, did as he was told. They seemed to stick. The monitor started showing spiky patterns that seemed to indicate that his brain was functioning. "This is going to rapidly piss me off."

"Tell me about it."

Sheppard gestured at his book, the one that Rodney seemed to have temporarily claimed as his own. "You planning on reading the whole thing while you're on leave?"

"Were you?"

"I can't read the cafeteria menu board. I think a weighty novel by a famous Russian author is out for the time being."

"If it's any consolation, you're not missing much," replied Rodney. "Tolstoy believes in taking his time."

"Great, I bring the world's thickest, most boring book."

"Think of it as your very own personal Mt. Everest."

Sheppard didn't reply, just yawned. "I think I'm going to try going back to sleep."

"Don't let me stop you," said Rodney and without any further conversation, when back to reading Tolstoy's master piece.

It bothered Sheppard. Rodney normally wasn't this quiet, or to the point and he'd seemed to have gone from blabbing all the time, to not bothering. Sheppard couldn't quite think of a way to broach the subject. He wasn't any good at sharing and caring, and he didn't think Rodney was either.

He couldn't think of another thing to say, so he opted for trying to go back to sleep.

((--))

Rodney woke up with a crick in his neck, _War and Peace_ still in his lap, sunlight streaming into the room and the sounds of cussing from the bathroom.

"God damn it! Fuck! Get it to-fucking-gether Sheppard."

His ears were shriveling just listening to it. Sheppard could curse up a storm when he wanted to, but this was an epic, even for Sheppard.

He hauled himself off the bed, rubbed at the back of his neck. The bathroom door was closed, so to be able to hear Sheppard's mutilation of the English language meant that Sheppard was putting some serious effort into the volume.

Tentatively, he knocked on the door. He probably really didn't want to know what the hell was bugging the pilot, but then again, the guy could be in trouble.

"Uh, Colonel? Do you need some help?"

The cursing abruptly stopped. Rodney could hear the shower running.

"No. I'm good," said the disembodied voice.

"Are you sure? You don't sound good."

There was another moment of silence before the door abruptly opened. Sheppard stood there, clutching a towel around his waist and completely dry. The shower however, was still running. Apart from the fact that he was mostly naked, Sheppard also looked really, really pissed off.

It didn't take Rodney more than a second to piece together why, because he'd seen the result of the attempt at taking a shower in the infirmary. However, even McKay could be discreet, so he didn't bother to be the first one to broach the subject. Besides, Sheppard looked fit to explode from the frustration.

As he stood there staring at Sheppard, and Sheppard staring at him, steam billowing from the doorway, he wondered if it wasn't just easier to make an excuse and get breakfast instead.

"Aren't you going to ask me what happened?"

Rodney shook his head. "I wasn't planning on it. Unless you wanted to tell me."

"I can't get into that stupid shower. I told Kate I was okay. That I could. She's going to call me on that bluff because I know how her evil counselor mind works. If I could just get in the freaking thing, then I didn't lie and she'd leave me alone."

"How long did it take you to come up with that convoluted logic?"

"Since I woke up. An hour ago. It took me thirty minutes to convince myself to turn the shower on."

"Are you in one of your post Machine moods?"

Sheppard rolled his eyeballs. "Yes, probably. Your point?"

It was then that Rodney had an epiphany of sorts. Maybe the guilt would go away if he put more effort into helping Sheppard. That would make sense. That might have been why Carson put them together. Maybe helping Sheppard would be a good distraction from the thoughts in his head that just kept going around and around like a dog trying to lie down in the most comfy spot.

Not that he'd ever had to tackle a phobia before, but no one could accuse Rodney McKay of not being a creative thinker. "Okay, what freaks you out about the shower? The temperature, the whole soap and shampoo thing or both?"

"Both."

"Then if one factor was removed, the other factor might not be an issue either."

Sheppard narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Maybe. By the way, feel free to speed this up so I can get dressed."

"I'd be against suggesting you don't use soap or shampoo. But there's no reason the shower can't be cold."

The pilot wrinkled his nose. "Cold showers. I'm flashing back to training."

"Just don't stay in there long enough to get hypothermia. Then you didn't lie to Kate and also, you could work you way up the temperature scale if you want."

He watched as Sheppard's mood abruptly changed again. At least the mood swings didn't seem to last long any more. "This is probably one of the dumbest ideas you've ever had, but I'm willing to give it a shot."

With that he closed the door. Rodney figured he probably should stick around, and feeling slightly perverted, he stood outside the door, just in case he had to rescue a suddenly freaked out Sheppard.

"HOLY CRAP!"

Okay. Sheppard had obviously managed to get into the shower. That was a good sign. There was some more generalized yelling associated with the cold water and five minutes later, the shower was off.

Another five minutes passed and Sheppard emerged dressed, shivering, and trying to towel dry his hair. Rodney grabbed a blanket from a bed, gave it to Sheppard, who wrapped himself up and tried to get warm.

"That was a terrible idea," said Sheppard.

"But you're clean and you got in the shower. So actually, it was a great idea."

Sheppard smiled through chattering teeth, "Yeah, maybe it was an okay idea."

McKay paused, feeling weirdly disjointed. One crisis solved, but now he was back to feeling like he was swimming around in circles.

There was no further conversation until Sheppard dropped his gaze down to the floor and seemed to be contemplating making a statement. "I am so fucked up."

Yeah, well, he could related to that. "If it's any consolation, I can join you in the fucked up stakes," said Rodney.

Sheppard gave him a curious look. "You have been kind of quiet lately. Quiet for Rodney McKay anyway. How come?"

Since Sheppard had asked, there didn't seem much point in trying to hide it. After all, Sheppard had unwillingly let Rodney see his shower phobia not once, but twice. It didn't seem fair to lie when it came to his own paranoia. "I'm worried that a psychotic monk is going to come back and beat me up again."

"Do you think he survived?"

"No. But that doesn't stop me from worrying."

"I know what you mean." Sheppard paused. "I hate to say this, but Kate is probably right. You should really talk to her when you see her this morning."

Rodney knew he was right. Knew Kate was right. But that didn't get him around the dreadful fear that seemed to permanently clench at his heart. "I like Kate. But this time, I just… I don't know. I don't want to talk about it. For a while anyway. Until I get it sorted in my head." Rodney seemed to be unable to find the right words, so instead opted for humor. "I think that's a big dose of irony right there".

Sheppard nodded his head in sympathy. "I just want it to be back to normal. I do normal by pretending it never happened."

"Does it work?"

"Seems to. Most times. Except for the nightmares."

"I don't know if that's such a strong recommendation."

"Yeah… Well, I don't know what else to do."

That made both of them.

((--))

Sheppard had trudged off to Kate's in the afternoon with great reluctance. Rodney had come back from his session looking pale and refused to speak to Sheppard for the rest of the morning. Instead, he'd muttered something about needing to go for a walk and Sheppard hadn't seen him since.

That didn't bode well for his own little Heightmeyer heart-to-heart. He was sitting on her couch, staring down at the patterns on the floor, waiting for her to begin.

"Did Rodney load the CD for you?" Okay, so she was going to start on a neutral line of questioning.

He shook his head. "No. I haven't asked him yet."

"Have you had a go at the peg board?"

He shook his head at that as well.

"Okay. You need to practice or you're going to slow your recovery down."

"Yes, mom."

She seemed unfazed by his sarcasm. "Let me know how long each attempt takes you."

"Absolutely." He paused, looked down at the floor again, contemplating whether he was going to get the brush off for his next question, and asked it anyway. "What'd you do to Rodney?"

This startled her. "What do you mean?"

"He wasn't exactly in a chipper mood when he got back."

"I don't discuss my client's cases."

"Sure you do. I bet you and Carson have a regular gab fest all the time."

"He's a fellow professional." She seemed a teeny bit peeved at his question.

"Look, you can't expect to stick me and Rodney together, and when you've put him in a foul mood, not clue me in on what's going on. How am I supposed to figure out whether I should worry or not?"

Kate considered his request for a moment. "All I can tell you is that after a very long conversation about his cat, we moved onto discussing events on the planet."

"I was hoping for specifics."

"Let's just say that Rodney is dealing with issues related to torture."

No revelation there either. Rodney had intimated it without actually saying the words and Sheppard knew that McKay hadn't wound up with a messed up face because it had been rearranged courtesy of some botched plastic surgery. However, Kate wasn't going to be pushed any further on the matter and he knew he couldn't avoid talking either. Actually, he took that back. He could clam up and refuse to speak another word. But they'd keep ordering him back to see her, much like he'd been ordered to visit the combat stress teams after Holland's death and his own torture.

He knew what Rodney was going through. Of course he did. He knew all about mind numbing fear that didn't so much shut you down, as cast a veneer of suspicion over everyone and everything. You were always trying to act normally while waiting for the shit to start. You were permanently preparing for the hurt to begin again.

God, it was hard. It was hard every single damn time and he was sick of it all. But he also understood that maybe once more he had to be the responsible one. He needed to get off-world, and he needed to fly a jumper and he wanted McKay to be part of his team again. Neither of them was going to make it that far if they didn't over come the fear that told them if they talked, it was just going to lead to yet more betrayal.

He sucked in a deep breath, laced his hands together so they wouldn't move. Stared at the back of his hands. Then he started.

"She reminded me of all the women in my life that I'd rather forget."

((--))

Tibs voice was mixed up with Machine. Tibs wanted him to obey, completely and utterly, and if he didn't Tibs would make sure he paid the price. He was sitting in the control room, his hands hovering over a panel and Tibs was standing behind him.

The stargate was working. Sheppard appeared to be stuck in the event horizon. A leg trapped, half in, half out, like an insect glued to fly paper.

"Shut it down," demanded Tibs.

"No! I shut the gate down with Sheppard trapped on the event horizon, he'll lose his leg!"

"Remember what I told you? I expect you to obey me. What do you want – for Sheppard to lose a leg, or for me to go down there and work on him? He can't get away, so he'll be mine to play with as long as I like."

Rodney could feel Tibs breathing on his neck, the breath hot and disgusting and he wanted very much to turn around and slug Tibs, but he couldn't. He could only sit there, paralyzed and stupid, being forced to make choices he shouldn't have to make.

"I won't do it!"

"Yes, you will. Because you know what I can do to a person."

Tibs was right. He'd do what he was told because he knew that with Tibs it was pain now, or a slow death later. His hand hit the control panel. The stargate shut down.

Sheppard fell backwards, and started screaming. Blood flowed everywhere.

Rodney woke up. Oh, Christ, Tibs was here. He was sure of it. He bolted out of his bed, saw a dim shape in the room, thought, _I have to get out_.

"McKay! Calm down! That's an order."

A voice, one that he knew, was yelling at him in his best command tone. Hey, he was civilian. He didn't have to take an order if he didn't want to.

"Huh?"

The figure in the room had moved closer to him, the EEG monitor having flat lined again. "I said, you should calm down and you need to wake up a little more."

He knew that voice. Sheppard. Okay, he was back on Atlantis and Sheppard had both his legs and Tibs was dead. Yes, definitely dead.

"Sorry. Bad dream."

"Hey, been there and done that."

Rodney slumped back onto his bed, Sheppard turned the lights up a fraction, just so they could make each other out more clearly, then sat down on the edge of his own.

He rubbed a hand across his eyes, tried to get rid of the feeling that Tibs was currently living under his bed. His visit to Kate was still raw in his mind and after he'd exhausted himself aimlessly walking around the pier, he'd come back to the room, eaten far too much at the cafeteria, along with Sheppard, and then they'd both flaked out. Only for a certain monk to start tap dancing around in his subconscious.

He opened his mouth and blurted out a question. "What was it like in Machine?"

Sheppard startled slightly at his question. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'll tell you my freakish nightmare if you tell me yours."

Sheppard let out a long breath, clearly having the same debate Rodney had about sharing their experiences. Then again, it made sense that they were the only ones who could really understand what the other was going through. Being forced to tell Kate wasn't the same thing. They'd both been there, both on the receiving end, in different ways.

"It was like… She knew everything about me and even though she did, she wouldn't back off. It was like she was making me talk and I didn't want to but…" He stopped, waited for Rodney to call him a lunatic.

"I had the opposite problem. Tibs hated me talking and spent his hours trying to find ways to make me shut up that didn't involve killing me."

"I don't remember much about him."

"He was the one obsessed with dunking you in the bath."

"Oh. Him. He was definitely weird."

"Yeah. He was the one that stuck my head in that cage thing so I couldn't talk."

"How bad was it? Did it hurt?"

"It wasn't so much that it hurt – it was the humiliation that got to me."

Sheppard nodded in understanding. "She kept poking around. There was a lot of stuff I'd tried to forget about and I was doing okay. Now it's all back, like it happened a few days ago. It hurts. In a different way."

Rodney shifted around on the mattress, pushing himself back against the pillows. "You talked about stuff off and on, when you were back in the Seer's room. Mostly you just fought everyone, like you were scared to death of being hurt. But it seemed it wasn't by us… By someone else?"

Silence. Sheppard did not respond, or was considering carefully whether he should risk that much. Rodney could understand it. There were plenty of incidents in his own past he never wanted to share with anyone. Health professionals had all that sharing and caring stuff happening but they never seemed to realize that if you got burnt enough time on the trust front, the chances of ever talking about a traumatic incident again were negligible.

Sheppard shifted restlessly, turned away from Rodney to lie down on the bed. The radio set was beeping again. He answered it. "Okay. I'm hooking myself up later. _Later_."

He threw the radio set to one side of the room. Sighed. "You know, there's a point when it's just easier to pretend that everything's okay, even when it's not."

"Yeah…"

"Yeah?" Sheppard seemed surprised that Rodney understood this. Then again, maybe Sheppard and himself had a lot more in common than either of them wanted to admit. They just handled their disappointments and scarring in a different manner.

Rodney took a deep breath before he began to talk.

"If I came home with anything but straight A's on my report card, you should have heard my father. He'd yell at me for not trying hard enough. Huge lectures. He would tell me I wasn't living up to my potential. He'd always say, 'One day you're going to do something special. I'm not going to let you ruin your life'. I got to the point where all I did was study. I went to university when I was fourteen. By that time I was on the verge of a breakdown."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. My mother was the one that stepped in. She took me out of school. My father went ballistic. She walked out with me, took me on a vacation for three solid months. Dad relented, paid the hotel bills, maybe because he realized his little genius was about to spontaneously combust."

"What about Jeannie?"

"She was daddy's little girl. He doted on her and didn't seem to expect so much from her. She was pretty much free to choose whatever career she was most comfortable with."

"So you weren't upset at the waste of her talent when she chose motherhood over a career in science."

"No. I was jealous that she'd managed to get a family of her own. Being pissy about the lack of a science career was a cover. What everyone expected me to say."

Sheppard didn't reply. The silence came back. At least there was one fact that Rodney would be sure of. Sheppard was never going to repeat this. Yeah, he may have teased Rodney, but it wasn't about anything important. He could keep his mouth shut because he was so practiced at it.

He heard Sheppard also take a breath. Presumably for much the same reason. A deep breath before launching into telling a secret. A story with sharp corners, that up until now, only Sheppard had ever known.

"My mother died when I was ten. In a car accident. She was nuts and I think it was probably suicide. But my father had spent so much time supporting her that when she died, there was a big hole and my father didn't know what to do. I think he kept going but the grief and guilt killed him inside. He got depressed. Then he got angry. I was the closest thing he had to hand to take it out on."

"Shit. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. It happened and the past can't be changed."

Rodney didn't know what else to do so he sat there, and twiddled his thumbs and then moved to idle speculation. "I wonder what it's like to have a nice life."

"A nice life?"

"You know. Nice childhood, nice parents, nice job."

"I hear nice isn't all that great."

"I got invited to a weekend sleep over when I was seven. I think they thought they should invite the weird McKay kid over so that it wasn't obvious that I was being left out of a neighborhood event. For two full days I kept wondering why no one was making anyone stay in their rooms and letting everyone eat sugary food. It so threw me, I went and got the dictionary from the bookshelf and sat and read it."

"Thus confirming that the McKay kid was weird."

Rodney snorted with laughter. "Yeah. All the other seven year olds are running around hyped on sugar, pretending to be pirates and I'm sitting on the couch diligently reading my way through all the words starting with 'M'."

"We really are fucked up. Both of us."

"I guess we are. No getting away from it."

"Kate's gonna want us to blab some more about our little trip in wonderland with the Mad Hatter Tibs and the Queen of Hearts," said Sheppard.

"Yeah. Let's just agree that we give each other space after the event."

"I think… I think we'll get there," said Sheppard, winding down and trying to put a positive spin on things. "Six weeks from now, everything is going to be back to normal."

"As long as you don't give up on showering completely. I'm not sticking around a team leader that stinks."

Sheppard laughed. "You just need to hang outside the door a few times until I knock my new phobia into submission."

"I can do that. It's not like I have anything else to do."

"See. Back to normal in no time. Carson and Kate will be happy and we can just go on our merry way."

"Yes. Great idea. Back to normal."

And it was. Because a faked normality was better than nothing.

He closed his eyes. An image of Tibs flashed before his eyes. He didn't open them, but chanted to himself that Tibs was dead.

They would get through this because they had survived bugs, and Wraith, and Genii, and Replicators. Because they'd survived their own personal tragedies before they even got to Atlantis. They would make it because they had each passed through enough fires to know that survival would mean some part of them would be irrevocably changed and some parts would remain the same. That's just the way it was.

He let out a breath.

Tibs was dead.

He inhaled.

Sheppard was alive.

He exhaled.

He was alive.

He inhaled.

They would keep going no matter what.

**The END**.


End file.
